THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE, 


ounts. 


BY 

PHEBE  A.  HANAFORD. 


"  I  WILL  sing  you  a  song  of  that  beautiful  land, 

The  far-away  home  ot  the  soul  ; 
Where  no  storms  ever  beat  on  the  glittering  strand, 
While  the  years  of  eternity  roll." 


BOSTON  : 
PUBLISHED  BY  B.  B.  RUSSELL,  55  CORNHILL. 

SAN  FRANCISCO  :    A.    L.    BANCROFT    &    CO. 
1871. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1870, 

BY  PHEBE  A.  HANAFORD. 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


Boston  : 
Rand,  A  very,  &"  Frye,  Stereotypers  and  Printers. 


Bctiicatarjj  bonnet. 


TO   ELLEN   E.    MILES. 

T~*RIEND  of  my  later  years,  whose  tender  love 

-•-        Has  filled  my  home  with  blossoms,  sweet  though  late, 

Whose  noble  heart  my  spirit  must  approve, 

As  Duty's  path  thou  tread'st  with  willing  feet  : 
Thy  welcome  service,  at  Love's  bidding  mine, 

As  these  my  rhythmic  waifs  are  gathered  now, 
Calls  for  a  grateful  tribute,  and  I  twine 

This  simple  wreath,  dear  NELLIE,  for  thy  brow. 
Soul-sister  !  may  the  waiting  years  for  thee 

Pour  out  a  largess  of  such  holy  joy 
That  earth  shall  seem  the  porch  of  heaven  to  be, 

And  songs  of  praise  thy  tuneful  lips  employ  ! 
Then,  while  eternal  years  shall  onward  roll, 
Still  may  we  share  Love's  summer  of  the  soul ! 


626073 


PREFACE. 


rTlHESE  poems  are  offered  only  to  those,  who, 
-L  through  love,  will  not  "  view  them  with  a 
critic's  eye."  They  have  not  been  wrought  with 
patient  labor,  neither  have  they  been  quarried  from 
mines  of  thought,  but  have  sprung  spontaneously 
from  seeds  which  sympathy  planted.  The  manifold 
cares  of  a  city  parish  forbid  much  pruning  or  trim 
ming  ;  and  hence  they  are  given  to  the  public  in 
much  the  same  form  as  when  they  first  appeared  in 
the  various  newspapers  and  magazines  whose  "  poet's 
corner "  they  helped  to  fill.  If  they  may  only,  in 
their  present  dress,  gratify  the  many  friends  who 
have  asked  for  them,  and  in  some  way  bless  human 
ity,  and  thus  glorify  God,  the  writer  will  be  satisfied. 

P.  A.  H. 
19  HOME  PLACE,  NEW  HAVEN,  CONN.  5 


CONTENTS. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

PAGE. 

From  Shore  to  Shore 19 

Our  Home  Beyond  the  Tide .  27 

Mankind  Moves  Onward 30 

At  Evening  Time  it  shall  be  Light 31 

Farther  On 32 

Your  Heavenly  Father  knoweth 34 

The  Day-Star  in  my  Heart 36 

The  Eden  Above 37 

Christ's  Invitation    •    ..  • 38 

That  Better  Land .        .        ...-..» 40 

Verbum  Consolationis  .       .•.'••'••«. 41 

The  Coming  of  Death 42 

Death  and  Victory 43 

Free  Thought 45 

Light  in  Darkness    • 46 

The  Still  Hour 47 

Qod  is  Love 48 

The  Last  Supper 50 

O  River  of  God,  Roll  On ! 51 

Rejoice  Evermore ...53 

A  Vision  by  Faith .......55 

A  Morning  without  Clouds         .        .        .       .'.       .        .       .       .       .66 

7 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Light  and  Liberty 57 

No  more  Tears 58 

The  Feast  of  Life 59 

Nearer ...  61 

Joys  to  Come        .        .        .        •       •       .  -    « 62 

We  shall  be  like  Him 63 

The  Purpose  of  Creation 65 

POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

To"Mabelle" 69 

"  Je  Vous  Remercie  " 72 

Birthday  Stanzas          ............  73 

Sixtieth  Birthday  of  F.  Barden 74 

What  shall  I  wish  for  Thee          ...........  76 

Album  Stanzas.  — To  E.  R 77 

Farewell  to  Carleton .....78 

They  say  that  I  Love  Thee ......79 

Memento  Lines  to  a  Friend  .        .        .        .       •-•„ 81 

SONNETS. 

William  H.  Prescott 85 

George  Washington      .       .        '.       .'.... 86 

To  a  Friend  in  Sadness        .       .       . 86 

Capture  of  Charleston          .  ^ 87 

A  Winter  Sonnet  .        .        .        .        .        ......        .       •        .        .88 

To  Joanna  Quiner        ..        .       .       .       ...'.       .       .       .        .88 

On  seeing  a  Bust  by  Miss  Quiner        .        .       . 89 

For  the  Grave  of  Mrs.  A.  A.  Foster 80 

Liberty  versus  Romanism 90 

Flowers 91 

POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

The  Live-Oak  Tree 95 

Soldier,  Rest! 97 


CONTKNTS.  9 

PAGE. 

The  Poet's  Prophecy  of  American  Future 99 

AVaiting  for  the  Hour 100 

Emancipation 102 

The  Patriot's  Prayer 104 

The  Lawrence  Massacre 106 

Where  is  He  ? 107 

The  Soldier  and  the  Teacher 109 

The  Dead  Soldier 112 

Jubilee  Guns 113 

The  Mothers  of  the  Brave 115 

The  Destruction  of  the  Merrimac 116 

It  is  Well !      .        .        . 118 

The  Young  Soldier 119 

Liberty  to  All 120 

A  Prayer  for  Abraham  Lincoln 121 

The  White  Hyacinth  from  Hampton 123 

The  Buried  Volunteer 124 

A  Prayer  for  the  Union 125 

A  Flower  from  a  Rebel's  Grave 126 

The  Siege  of  Charleston 128 

The  Union  Army  never  surrenders 129 

All  Quiet  Along  the  Potomac 131 

Freedom  in  Poland 132 

MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

The  Righteous  in  Everlasting  Remembrance 137 

First  Time  — Last  Time— Next  Time 139 

Only  Out  of  Sight 140 

In  Memory  of  Mrs.  E.  A.  Tenney 142 

To  A.  A.  F.    .        .        .        ;        . 143 

The  Ascended  Saint             .       .  - 145 

Margaret  Fuller 146 

Rev.  Arthur  Buckminster  Fuller 148 

Rev.  Dr.  Sylvanus  Cobb 150 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Eugene  Fuller 151 

Richard  F.  Fuller 153 

The  Tree 154 

Buried  in  the  Deep 153 

The  Mother  of  Whittier 156 

Stephen  Grellet 157 

One  Week  in  Heaven 159 

Little  Josey 161 

Live  for  Others 162 

Major  Soule 163 

Elliot's  Monument 165 

My  Farewell  to  1864 166 

POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 

A  Baby  borne  Away 171 

To  a  Motherless  Friend 172 

Our  Loved  One  Sleeps 174 

She  is  in  Heaven 175 

Kiss  me.  Mother 176 

The  Answered  Prayer         . 178 

To  a  Bereaved  Friend 180 

A  Mother  in  Heaven 181 

Only  and  Well  Beloved 182 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

No  Turning  Back 187 

The  Music  of  the  Pines 188 

The  Receding  Comet 190 

My  Mother's  Voice  in  Prayer 191 

To  a  Daffodil 193 

The  Student's  Prayer 194 

To  Maria  Mitchell 197 

Brant  Point    .                                                                                                       .  198 


CONTENTS.  11 

PAGE. 

Dead  Hopes 200 

Angelic  Language 202 

On  the  Shore  of  the  Sounding  Sea 203 

Violets 204 

The  Autumn  Rain 205 

Charlotte  Bronte"  Beading  the  Bible 207 

Death  in  the  State  House 209 

The  Child's  Message 211 

The  Children's  Concert 212 

Flowers .        .        .        .       .  •    »  - .       .        .214 

Niagara 215 

Gospel  Consolation 216 

Thoughts  after  a  Snow-Storm 217 

Eagle  Rock  and  Manchester  Beach 219 

Eli  Ben  Israel 220 

The  Sorrowful  Ten  Thousand 222 

The  Last  Day  of  Winter 224 

Parting  Words 226 

Twilight  on  Beverly  Shore 227 

A  Prophecy 229 

Byron 231 

The  Palace  and  the  Angel    .        .        .        .        * 232 

The  Grecian  Athlete    .       ....*. 235 

The  Ride 236 

Christmas  Eve 237 

We  all  do  fade  as  a  Leaf 238 

The  Book  of  Job 240 

The  Power  of  the  Beautiful        ; .241 

Moonlight  on  the  Ocean 243 

A  Tribute  of  Gratitude 245 

The  Boys'  Hymn 246 

"Insula  Bonae  Fortunae'' 249 

Glory  to  God  Alone 247 

Round  Hill     .                                                                                                             .  250 


12  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The  Love-Feast 252 

Tips  and  Downs 253 

God  Reigns 2f4 

Return  of  the  Jews  to  Palestine 256 

The  Moonlight  Scene 257 

They  marry  not  in  Heaven 259 

Rest  for  the  True  Laborer .        .231 

The  Shipwreck 202 

Mrs.  Ilemans  on  the  Sea-Shore 263 

The  Midnight  Meeting 264 

Wenham-Lake  Ice 264 

Rally  for  Temperance .  266 

To  One  who  has  sent  me  the  Works  of  Swedenborg 267 

God  and  Little  Children 270 

Lives  written  for  an  Agricultural  Fair       ........  273 

The  Cross  and  the  Crown 274 

The  Question  Answered 275 


BIOGRAPHICAL   SKETCH. 


author  of  these  poems  is  a  native  of  the 
J-  Island  of  Nantucket.  Her  family  name  was 
Coffin ;  and  she  was  born  of  Quaker  parents,  May  6, 
1829,  and  on  her  mother's  side  is  a  descendant  from 
Peter  Folger,  the  maternal  grandfather  of  the  philos 
opher  and  statesman,  Benjamin  Franklin,  and  thus 
related  to  Lucretia  Mott  and  Maria  Mitchell.  Until 
the  age  of  sixteen,  she  studied  in  the  public  and  pri 
vate  schools  of  Nantucket,  when  she  commenced 
teaching,  but  still  pursued  her  studies  with  the  late 
Rev.  Ethan  Allen,  then  rector  of  the  Episcopal 
church  on  that  island.  At  the  early  age  of  thirteen, 
she  commenced  writing  for  the  press  of  her  native 
town.  That  the  child-poet  was  deeply  sensitive  to 
the  blight  upon  our  boasted  freedom  may  be  seen  by 
the  following  stanzas,  which  close  a  short  poem  en 
titled  "  America,"  written  at  the  age  of  thirteen  :  — 

"  Shame,  shame  the  deepest,  will  be  thine, 
Till  Freedom's  light  on  all  shall  shine  : 
Till  black  and  white  alike  are  free, 
Blight  will  forever  rest  on  the0. 

13 


14  BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH. 

But  change  the  scene,  and  let  the  sun 

No  injured  bondman  shine  upon, 
Then  joy  shall  reign  o'er  all  the  land, 

And  high  'midst  nations  thou  shalt  stand." 

In  1849  she  married,  and  removed  to  Newton,  Mass., 
where  for  a  year  she  assisted  her  husband,  Dr.  J.  H. 
Hanaford,  in  teaching,  at  the  same  time  devoting 
her  leisure  hours  to  literary  pursuits.  She  then 
returned  to  Nantucket ;  and  resided  there  until,  in 
1857,  with  her  husband  and  two  young  children,  she 
removed  to  the  town  of  Beverly,  Mass.,  where  she 
became  personally  active  in  the  Temperance  cause, 
since  which  time  she  has  occupied  prominent  offices 
in  the  Grand  and  Subordinate  lodges  of  Good  Tem 
plars.  In  1864,  she  removed  to  Reading,  Mass.,  where 
she  united  with  the  Universalists  of  that  place,  and 
soon  afterwards  accepted  the  editorship  of  that  popu 
lar  magazine,  "  The  Ladies  Repository."  Of  her 
success  in  that  direction  we  need  only  say,  that 
during  her  three  years'  labor  there  its  subscription- 
list  was  increased  some  thousands.  In  1866  she 
commenced  preaching  in  the  town  of  Hingham,  Mass., 
where,  in  1868,  she  was  ordained  and  installed  pastor 
of  the  First  Universalist  Church,  being  the  fir.  t 
woman  ordained  in  Massachusetts.  Rev.  John  G. 
Adams  and  Rev.  Olympia  Brown  preached  the  ser 
mons.  In  1869  she  accepted  a  call  from  the  Univer 
salist  Society  at  Waltham,  and  for  one  year  supplied 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH.  15 

the  desk  on  alternate  Sundays  at  Hingham  and  Wal- 
tham,  sending  supplies  to  the  vacant  pulpit.  At  the 
close  of  the  .same  year,  she  had  a  unanimous  call  from 
the  Universalist  church  in  New  Haven,  Conn. 
Precious  as  were  the  associations  which  clustered 
around  her  first  and  dearly-loved  parish  at  Hing 
ham,  duty  led  her  to  accept  the  call  into  a  broader 
field  of  labor.  The  following  April  she  took  charge 
of  the  New-Haven  society,  and  was  installed  as 
pastor,  June  9,  1870,  Rev.  Dr.  E.  H.  Chapin  preach 
ing  the  sermon.  None  but  those  who  know  her 
in  her  home  can  conceive  of  the  amount  of  labor 
which  she  performs  with  her  pen.  Not  only  does  she 
write  both  prose  and  verse  for  many  of  the  news 
papers  and  other  periodicals  of  the  day,  but  she  has 
had  published  ten  volumes  ;  among  which  is  her  "  Life 
of  Peabody,"  reaching  a  sale  of  sixteen  thousand 
copies ;  and  her  "  Life  of  Lincoln,"  twenty  thou 
sand.  An  edition  of  five  thousand  of  the  latter  was 
published  in  the  German  language.  She  is  never 
idle.  Through  winter's  cold  and  summer's  heat  she 
is  still  busy  with  her  toil,  —  active  in  all  the  re 
forms  of  the  day,  a  prominent  worker  for  woman 
suffrage,  a  general  favorite  in  the  lecture-field,  while 
as  a  preacher  she  is  having  an  enviable  success. 

E.  E.  M. 


FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE. 


FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE. 


~T~T  was  a  dreamy  and  delicious  day, 

JL     Such  as  we,  blissful,  know  in  later  May, 

When  from  the  shore  a  tiny  vessel  sped, 

With  hearts  as  joyous  as  the  skies  o'erhead, 

Borne  with  its  fairy  grace  along  the  wave, 

While  rippled  forth  their  talk  both  gay  and  grave. 

The  aged  sire  with  snowy  locks  was  there ; 

The  mother  also  with  her  brow  of  care : 

Both  dear  and  precious  to  the  youthful  band, 

Who  blend   their  buoyant  hearts  with  strength  of 

hand. 

The  children  gazed  afar  from  out  the  prow, 
And  scarce  could  wait  the  while  their  keel  should 

plough 

Its  shining  furrow  through  the  yielding  tide 
To  reach  the  shore  upon  the  other  side. 
Young  love  was  there  to  blend  the  hearts  of  two : 
The  maiden  smiled ;  the  whispered  tale,  so  new 
And  yet  so  old,  was  still  so  full  of  bliss, 
They  saw  no  farther  shore,  nor  yet  saw  this,  — 
Only  each  other  all  the  voyage  they  saw, 
Obeying  thus  the  grand,  eternal  law. 
With  thoughtful  eye,  and  choosing  oft  to  stand, 
Fair  Lena's  husband  views  the  distant  land ; 

19 


20  FROM  SHORE   TO  SHORE. 

While  prattling  childhood,  at  the  vessel's  side, 

Watches  the  motion  of  the  azure  tide. 

At  last  the  boatman  breaks  the  silence  long, 

And  begs  of  youth  and  maiden  each  a  song. 

The  maiden  coy  refuses  with  a  smile  ; 

The  youth  declares  he  cannot  thus  beguile 

The  hours  that  float  too  fast  for  him  away, 

Bringing  the  farewell  with  the  close  of  day. 

Then  asks  the  husband,  —  proud  and  glad  is  he,  — 

"  Dear  Lena,  sing  the  song  which  pleaseth  me." 

Pleased  with  his  pleasure,  sharing  Love's  reward, 

She  sings  a  stanza  in  Love's  sweet  accord  ; 

And  soft  the  music  floats  the  waters  o'er, 

As  thus  she  sings  the  song,  "  From  Shore  to  Shore." 

"  In  childhood's  hour  with  careless  joy 

Upon  the  stream  we  glide  ; 
With  youth's  bright  hopes  we  gayly  speed 

To  reach  the  other  side. 
From  shore  to  shore,  from  shore  to  shore, 

We're  gliding  on  forever : 
Keep  watch  and  ward  to  guide  and  guard, 

O  Thou  who  slumberest  never  !  " 


Thus  sang  the  wife  ;  and  then,  this  stanza  o'er, 
All  sang  the  chorus  of  this  "  Shore  to  Shore." 

"  From  shore  to  shore,  from  shore  to  shore, 

We're  gliding  on  forever  : 
Keep  watch  and  ward  to  guide  and  guard, 
O  Thou  who  slumberest  never !  " 


FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE.  21 

Then  silence  fell,  like  night  on  Arab  plain, 
When  ceased  the  music  of  that  sweet  refrain ; 
And,  ere  its  sweet  solemnity  was  o'er, 
They  talked  together  of  the  far-off  shore,  — 
Not  the  fair  land  their  mortal  eyes  descried, 
But  that  so  out  of  sight  beyond  the  tide. 
And  heart  to  heart  they  spoke  Faith's  earnest  word, 
Trusting  the  love  revealed  by  Christ  the  Lord; 
And  reverent  questions  met  with  answers  then, 
As  silver  locks  replied  to  youthful  ken ; 
While  young  and  old  rejoiced  to  know  one  Eye 
Of  Love  unwearied  watched  them  from  the  sky. 

The  noontide  came  ;  and  on  a  fairy  isle 
The  party  rested  for  a  pleasant  while  ; 
And  mirth  and  gladness  ruled  the  fiery  hour, 
Beneath  the  shelter  of  the  woodland  bower. 
And  while  they  rested,  at  the  sire's  request, 
They  sang  the  songs  that  tell  us  of  the  blest ; 
And,  as  they  gazed  their  watery  pathway  o'er, 
Another  stanza  came,  "  From  Shore  to  Shore." 

"  Manhood  looks  forth  with  careful  glance ; 

Time  steady  plies  the  oar ; 
While  old  age  calmly  waits  to  hear 

The  keel  upon  the  shore. 
And  when  our  keel  shall  grate  at  last, 

Beyond  the  rolling  river, 
Thy  praise  we'll  sing,  while  loud  shall  ring 

The  fair,  green  shore  forever." 

And  then  the  children  there  the  chorus  sang, 
While  all  the  woodland  with  the  echoes  rang,  — 


22  FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE. 

"  From  shore  to  shore,  from  shore  to  shore, 

We're  gliding  on  forever : 
Keep  watch  and  ward  to  guide  and  guard, 
O  Thou  who  slumberest  never  !  " 

Noon  passed :  the  blazing  sun  went  down  the  west ; 
The  May-bloom  had  the  isle  in  beauty  drest; 
And  through  its  pleasant  paths  they  sauntered  long, 
Mingling  their  cheerful  talk  with  shout  and  song. 
The  day  was  rare  ;  all  hearts  at  peace  were  found  ; 
And  love  made  that  sweet  isle  all  hallowed  ground. 
The  aged  grandsire,  with  his  silvery  crown, 
And  his  companion  with  her  pure  renown,  — 
The  village  friend,  the  solace  of  the  poor, 
The  unwearied  watcher  by  the  solemn  door,  — 
They  sat,  and  thought  of  joys  for  them  in  store 
When  Life  should  blossom  on  the  other  shore  ; 
And,  with  a  peace  that  faith  alone  could  bring, 
They  heard  their  children  of  that  heaven  sing. 
And  blessed  the  Power  which  o'er  Life's  lengthened 

way 
Had  guided  them  and  guarded,  day  by  day. 

When  o'er  the  waters  rose  the  silvery  moon, 

Their  day  to  lovers  ended  all  too  soon, 

Once  more  the  boatman  called  ;  then  gathered  they, 

And  homeward  bound  once  more  they  launched  away. 

The  grating  keel  slow  glided  from  the  shore, 

And  they  were  on  the  sparkling  wave  once  more. 

Homeward  they  sped  with  Peace  attendant  there, 

The  angel  of  the  hour,  serene  and  fair.  • 

Hope  had  her  pinions  folded  ;  for  the  day 

Her  promise  had  fulfilled,  and  now  the  way 


FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE.  23 

Was  o'er  the  moonlit  tide  to  home's  calm  bliss, 

The  foretaste  of  the  new  earth's  rest  in  this. 

The  lovers'  whispered  vows  were  hushed  that  night, 

As  hand  in  hand  they  watched  the  shimmering  light, 

And  in  the  sparkling  of  their  watery  way 

Beheld  the  diamonds  of  their  wedding-day 

The  husband  drew  his  Lena  to  his  side, 

And  whispered,  "  Dearer  now  than  when  a  bride." 

The  old  man  looked  on  all  with  calm  content ; 

The  aged  mother,  who  the  day  had  spent 

In  large  desire  that  others  should  be  blest, 

Now  smiled  in  concert  with  his  thought  of  rest ; 

And  e'en  the  children,  by  the  hour  subdued, 

Thought  only  of  the  beautiful  and  good,  — 

No  mischief  lighting  up  the  boyish  face, 

Nor  on  the  girlish  brow  a  single  trace 

Of  teasing  mirth,  but,  while  all  bickerings  cease, 

Were  gliding  homeward  o'er  the  path  of  peace. 

Well  might  the  boatman  ask  again  the  song 

Which  in  his  spirit  all  day  could  prolong 

The  thought  of  God's  good  will  and  loving  care 

To  all  his  children  given  everywhere ; 

And  so  again  the  melody  went  o'er 

The  waters  as  they  sang  "  From  Shore  to  Shore." 

"  Through  storm  or  calm  we  glide  along  ; 

We  pass  from  shore  to  shore  : 
With  blended  tears  and  smiles  we  go 

To  smile  forevermore. 
With  love  to  God,  and  love  to  man, 

The  spirit  of  the  sky, 
The  young  and  old  may  calmly  pass 

To  ansrel-homes  on  high." 


24  FROM  SHORE  TO  SHORE. 

So  sang  contented  hearts,  which  placed  their  trust 
In  One  forever  merciful  as  just ; 
And  thus  the  chorus  o'er  the  waters  hied, 
While  Faith's  bright  vision  saw  beyond  the  tide. 

"  From  shore  to  shore,  from  shore  to  shore, 

We're  gliding  on  forever: 
Keep  watch  and  ward  to  guide  and  guard, 
O  Thou  who  slumberest  never !  " 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 


POEMS   OF   CHRISTIAN   FAITH. 


OUR  HOME  BEYOND  THE  TIDE. 


[Written  on  receiving  from  a  friend  a  beautiful  engraving  with  the  above 

title.] 

OUR  home  is  beyond  the  tide,  friend,  — 
Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide, 
Where  the  glorious  city  of  light  is  seen 

Whose  gates  are  open  wide. 
Through  the  golden  streets  of  that  city  fair 

We  soon  shall  pass  along ; 
And  a  holy  joy  shall  fill  our  hearts 
As  we  greet  the  shining  throng 
Who  walk  those  streets  through  the  endless  day, 

Earth's  dear  ones  side  by  side. 
Oh,  the  bliss  that  awaits  us  when  we  reach 
Our  home  beyond  the  tide  ! 

• 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide,  friend,  — 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide, 
Where  the  river  of  life,  with  its  water  bright, 

Is  rolling  deep  and  wide. 
There  the  tree  of  life,  with  its  fruit  so  fair, 

O'er  the  sparkling  waters  bends ; 

27 


28  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

And  beneath  its  shade,  with  unmeasured  bliss, 
We  shall  meet  our  cherished  friends. 

Oh,  we  soon  shall  rest  in  those  sacred  bowers, 
Where  no  cynic  our  love  shall  chide, 

And  the  saints'  communion  unhindered  share, 
In  OUT  home  beyond  the  tide  ! 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide,  friend,  — 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide ; 
And  though  between  us  and  that  blissful  shore 

The  river  of  death  may  glide, 
Yet  its  waters  rough  surging  around  our  barks 

Can  never  our  souls  o'erwhelm  : 
We've  hope  for  the  anchor,  and  love  for  the  breeze, 

And  our  Saviour  at  the  helm. 
We  shall  safely  pass  o'er  the  Jordan  of  death, 

To  the  land  where  the  saints  abide,  — 
To  the  home  of  the  angels,  the  mansions  of  joy, 

To  our  home  beyond  the  tide. 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide,  friend,  — 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide ; 
And  many  a  loved  one,  speeding  there, 

Has  vanished  from  our  side. 
For  us  will  the  voiceless  Charon  soon 

With  his  muffled  oar  draw  nigh, 
And  bear  us  to  meet  the  welcome  sweet 

Of  loved  ones  now  on  high. 
How  thrills  the  heart  with  the  thought  of  tones 

Which  ne'er  from  our  hearts  have  died,  — 
Of  the  faces  dear  which  we  hope  to  greet 

In  our  home  beyond  the  tide  ! 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  29 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide,  friend,  — 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide ; 
And  we  must  not  sigh  with  a  vain  regret 

For  the  ills  which  here  betide. 
But  oft,  from  the  heights  of  faith  sublime, 

Gaze  far  o'er  the  darksome  wave, 
And  bless  our  God  for  the  rest  from  care 

In  the  land  beyond  the  grave. 
The  waves  of  sin  surge  no  more  round  the  Rock 

In  the  cleft  of  which  we  hide  : 
Oh,  with  longing  hearts  we  wait  the  call 

To  our  home  beyond  the  tide  ! 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide,  friend,  — 

Our  home  is  beyond  the  tide ; 
And  we  must  not  sigh  for  those  earthly  joys 
"Best  Wisdom "  hath  denied. 
For  the  thorns  of  earth,  there  are  flowers  in  heaven ; 

For  its  cares,  there  is  long  repose ; 
For  the  vale  of  tears,  there's  the  mount  of  joy 

Where  the  heart  with  rapture  glows. 
Then  with  loving  hearts  we  will  do  His  will 

In  whose  promise  our  hearts  confide, 
And  patiently  wait  for  our  turn  to  reach 

Our  home  beyond  the  tide. 


30 


"  Mankind  moves  onward  through  the  night  of  Time,  like  a  procession 
of  torch-bearers,  and  words  are  the  lights  which  the  generations  carry.  By 
means  of  these,  they  kindle  abiding  lamps  beside  the  track  which  they 
pass ;  and  some  of  them,  like  the  stare,  shall  shine  for  ever  and  ever." 


MANKIND  moves  onward  through  the  night  of 
Time," 

On,  though  the  stars  are  dim, 
While  through  the  darkness,  like  to  Egypt's  gloom, 

There  comes  no  morning  gleam. 
Mankind  moves  onward ;  God  is  yet  on  earth  ; 
And  men  grow  worthier  their  immortal  birth. 

"Mankind  moves   onward    through    the    night    of 
Time  ;  " 

For  God  is  with  us  still, 
In  all  our  songs  the  key-note  still  to  sound, 

And  work  his  sovereign  will : 
That  purpose,  vast  and  glorious,  yet  shall  stand, 
Till  this  fair  earth  shall  be  Immanuel's  land. 

"-Mankind  moves   onward    through    the    night    of 
Time ; " 

And  One  —  fair  Bethlehem's  Star  — 
His  rugged  path  illumes  with  light  of  truth 

Sublime,  and  from  afar, 

Mingling  with  earth-born  hopes,  till,  free  from  dross, 
Through  discipline,  all  else  is  counted  loss. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH,  31 

"  Mankind  moves  onward  through  the  night  of  Time." 

Then  faint  not,  O  my  soul ! 
Thou  art  thyself  God's  child  among  the  rest, 

And  thou  shalt  reach  the  goal ; 
And  all  thou  lovest  with  thyself  shall  stand, 
Forever  safe  from  sin,  at  God's  right  hand. 


"  AT  EVENING  TIME  IT  SHALL  BE 
LIGHT." 


DEAR,  fainting  pilgrim  on  Life's  weary  road, 
Lone  voyager  on  Life's  stormy,  restless  sea, 
Faint  not :  though   dark  the  lowering   clouds  may 

spread, 
At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light  for  thee. 

Thus  He  who  loves  thy  soul  trod  weary  ways, 

Thus  floated  lonely  on  a  starless  sea  ; 
Yet  His  the  promise,  —  be  to  Him  the  praise  !  — 

"  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light  for  thee." 

Now  clouds  and  darkness  are  His  children's  lot ; 

But  soon  a  blissful  dawn  for  them  shall  be,  — 
Glory  beyond  the  stretch  of  mortal  thought, 

Visions  of  beauty  mortals  may  not  see. 

Hope  on !  unwavering,  press  thou  through  the  gloom  ! 

The  Cross  must  be  thy  pillar-cloud  by  day, 
Thy  blazing  guard  by  night,  till,  nearing  home, 

At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light  for  thee. 


32  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

/Faint  not.    The  Voice  which  spake  the  word  of  yore, 

And  was  obeyed,  o'er  surging  Galilee, 
Speaks  to  thy  soul  in  every  stormy  hour, 

"  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light  for  thee.") 

Dear  voices  hushed  in  Death's  unpitying  sleep, 
Thou  mayest  not  hear  this  side  the  narrow  sea : 

They  echo  on  that  shore  where  none  may  weep  ; 
There  shalt  thou  greet  them  when  'tis  light  for 
thee. 

There  shalt  thou  see  the  Crucified  and  Crowned, 
Thy  chosen  Master  here,  whose  smile  shall  be 

A  full  assurance  that  thine  heart  hath  found 
At  evening  time  'twas  surely  light  for  thee. 


FARTHER  ON. 


NOW  the  ills  of  earth  surround  us  ; 
Oft  the  storm-clouds  hide  the  sun ; 
But,  though  dark  the  night  around  us, 
Day  is  breaking  farther  on : 

Farther  onward, 
All  the  mists  and  clouds  are  gone. 

Here  the  thorns  with  flowers  are  growing, 
Rough  and  weary  is  our  path ; 

Gentle  waters  seldom  flowing 
In  the  desert  ways  of  earth : 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  33 

Farther  onward, 
Sweet,  immortal  springs  have  birth. 

Blossoms  in  our  pathway  springing, 

Fade,  alas !  too  soon  away ; 
Warblers,  love's  sweet  chorus  singing, 

Seek  their  rest  ere  close  of  day : 
Farther  onward, 

Flowers  shall  never  know  decay. 

Farther  on,  the  voice  whose  sweetness 

Cheered  us  ere  it  silent  grew, 
Tuned  to  more  than  seraph  meetness, 

Sings  those  songs  the  angels  know  : 
Father  onward, 

We  shall  join  the  chorus  too. 

As  we  to  our  rest  draw  nearer, 

We  shall  pass  through  shady  bowers, 

And  our  feet,  'neath  skies  grown  clearer, 
Press  the  fragrance  from  the  flowers : 

1      Farther  onward, 
Strewing  smoother  paths  than  OUTS. 

We  will  leave  our  Leader  never  ; 

But  we'll  calmly  onward  press, 
Till  we  dwell  with  him  forever, 

'Mid  supernal  blessedness : 
Farther  onward, 

With  the  saints  his  name  to  bless. 

Yet,  till  we,  on  high  appearing, 
With  the  sin-freed  hosts  abide, 

3 


34  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

Welcome  is  each  promise  cheering, 
Telling  us  how  deep  and  wide, 

Farther  onward, 
Flows  salvation's  blissful  tide. 


YOUR  HEAVENLY  FATHER  KNOWETH. 


HILDREN  of  want  and  sorrow, 

Whose  tears  like  rivers  flow, 
There  is  a  glad  to-morrow, 

Which  ye  shall  ere  long  know. 
Faint  not  beneath  your  burdens, 

Grieve  not  at  thronging  cares, 
Ofttimes  they  are  the  guerdons 

Of  liberty  from  snares. 
In  patience  ever  groweth 

Faith's  strong  and  brilliant  wings : 
"Your  heavenly  Father  knoweth 

Your  need  of  all  these  things." 

He  knows  that  riches  harden 

The  God-forgetting  heart, 
So  plucks  from  out  your  garden 

The  plants  which  joy  impart. 
On  heaven's  hillsides  glorious, 

Transplanted,  they  shall  bloom, 
Till,  o'er  your  sins  victorious, 

You  reach  that  blessed  home. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  35 

Salvation's  trumpet  bloweth : 

Hark !  while  the  message  rings,  — 

"  Your  heavenly  Father  knoweth 
Your  need  of  all  these  things." 

Though  marred  your  hopes  so  cherished, 

Though  crossed  your  worldly  schemes, 
And  on  their  stems  have  perished 

Your  chosen  plant's  racemes  ; 
Though  dark  these  providences, 

And  heavy  seems  each  cross,  — 
Towards  heaven  the  soul  advances 

By  gain  once  counted  loss. 
Grief  oft  for  heaven  soweth, 

And  Death  the  bright  sheaves  brings  : 
"  Your  heavenly  Father  knoweth 

Your  need  of  all  these  things." 

Each  Marah  is  appointed ; 

There's  no  redundant  thorn : 
He  spared  not  his  Anointed, 

And  we  must  follow  on. 
But,  oh,  there's  consolation ! 

Each  fearful  furnace-fire, 
Each  hour  of  desolation, 

Lifts  the  tried  spirit  higher, 
On,  toward  where  Life's  stream  floweth. 

Fold  not  your  weary  wings  ! 
"  Your  heavenly  Father  knoweth 

Your  need  of  all  these  things." 


36  .      POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 


THE  DAY-STAR  IN  MY  HEART. 


I  ASK  not  earthly  pomp  and  power, 
Earth's  riches  or  its  joy ; 
For  well  I  know  Time's  onward  march 

Such  glory  will  destroy : 
But,  O  blest  Saviour  !  grace  impart,  — 
Oh  light  "  the  Day-Star  in  my  heart "  ! 

Amid  the  sorrows  mortals  know 

Along  life's  chequered  way, 
Where  sweetest  joys  too  soon  are  o'er, 

And  brightest  flowers  decay, 
One  blessed  boon,  my  God,  impart : 
Give  me  "  the  Day-Star  in  rny  heart  "  ! 

When  sorrow's  night,  and  sin's  dark  cloud, 

Seem  hovering  near  my  soul, 
O  thou  who  dost  in  earth  and  heaven 

O'er  all  things  have  control 
Bid  from  my  soul  each  cloud  depart,  — 
Give  me  "  the  Day-Star  in  my  heart "  ! 

Then  forth  upon  the  wings  of  love 

To  other  hearts  I'd  speed, 
And  scatter  there,  with  childlike  faith, 

The  precious  gospel-seed, 
Till  penitential  tears  shall  start, 
And  beams  the  Day-Star  in  each  heart." 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  37 


THE  EDEN  ABOVE. 


[A  lady  in  Beverly  presented  to  me,  when  about  leaving  that  lovely  spot 
to  visit  my  native  island,  in  1860,  a  beautiful  bouquet,  asking  that  it  should 
be  preserved  for  a  season,  though  the  flowers  composing  it  should  wither; 
adding  to  the  request  the  following  excellent  original  stanza:  — 

"  For  Jesus  disdains  not,  he  counts  not  as  loss, 

Those  withered  heart-blossoms  Faith  wreathes  round  his  cross : 
More  precious  than  lilies  of  Paradise,  they 
In  his  own  loving  bosom  are  folded  for  aye  I  " 

Her  words  suggested  the  following  lines :  — ] 

YES,  thou  art  right !  His  loving  heart, 
Which  felt  for  human  woe, 
And  suffered  from  keen  sorrow's  dart 

In  ages  long  ago, 
Still  beats  as  warm,  as  true,  as  high, 

For  every  mortal  grief,  — 
Still  bends,  like  the  o'er-arching  sky, 
To  whisper  sweet  relief. 

No  withered  heart  by  sorrow  seared, 

With  hopes  by  grief  destroyed, 
But  finds  for  it  the  cross  upf  eared ; 

In  Christ,  peace  unalloyed. 
Then,  confident,  thine  offerings  bring, 

O  humble,  contrite  soul ! 
Thy  presence  bids  the  angels  sing 

Where  tides  of  glory  roll. 

The  flowers  upon  each  heavenly  height 

Are  ever  sweet  and  fair ; 
But,  to  the  tender  Shepherd's  sight, 

No  blossoms  are  more  dear 


38  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

Than  those  which  early  fade  on  earth 

Beneath  a  clouded  sky, 
Too  frail  to  bear  the  storm,  the  dearth 

Of  heaven-born  sympathy. 

For  such,  celestial  breezes  blow, 

The  "  airs  of  Paradise  ;  " 
Such  blossoms  will,  transplanted,  grow, 

Perfecting,  in  the  skies. 
There  flowers  of  faith  immortal  bloom, 

The  buds  of  hope  ne'er  die, 
And  wreaths  of  love  adorn  the  home 

Of  spirits  in  the  sky. 

Then  let  no  weary  soul  despair : 

A  garden  shall  be  found, 
Where  graces  bloom  whose  fragrance  here 

Oft  makes  earth  hallowed  ground. 
Unfading  there  Love's  rose  shall  bloom, 

Faith's  floweret  droop  no  more : 
Oh  when,  dear  Master,  may  our  home 

Be  found  upon  that  shore  ! 


CHRIST'S  INVITATION. 


1  Come  unto  me  all  ye  that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give 
you  rest." 


COME  unto  me,  earth's  weary  ones ! 
The  Saviour  saith  to-day ; 
"  Come  ye  that,  heavy-laden,  sigh, 
Your  burdens  cast  away. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  39 

Come  to  the  Rock  in  Life's  hot  noon, 

And  I  will  give  you  rest  ; 
Come,  weary  pilgrim,  hither  come, 

And  be  forever  blest." 

Lord  Jesus !  now  thy  voice  I  hear, 

No  longer  I  delay : 
From  earthly  hopes  and  vain  desires, 

My  spirit  turns  away. 
Thy  voice,  O  Teacher  most  divine  ! 

With  cadences  so  sweet, 
Steals  on  my  ear  amid  earth's  din, 

And  checks  my  wandering  feet. 

From  cares  which  like  the  mountain  waves 

Dash  oft  around  my  soul, 
I  turn,  Lord  of  the  world  !  to  thee, 

Who  canst  the  waves  control. 
I  come  to  thee :  speak  thou  again  ; 

Bid  their  wild  tumult  cease, 
Till  on  my  soul,  like  summer  waves, 

They,  breaking,  murmur  "  Peace  !  " 

Rest,  rest  in  thee  !  my  spirit  longs 

For  calm  and  sweet  repose ; 
To  have  my  soul  a  tranquil  lake 

Whereon  faith's  lily  grows. 
I  claim  thy  promise,  gracious  Lord ! 

Thy  love  to  weary  me,  — 
Repenting,  hoping,  loving  now, 

O  Christ !  I  come  to  thee. 


40  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 


THAT  BETTER  LAND. 


IN  that  better  land  where  the  day  dies  not, 
And  the  flow'rets  ne'er  decay, 
Where  the  angels  pass  on  their  errands  bright, 

And  the  ransomed  rejoice  alway, 
There  the  loving  heart  and  the  holy  soul 
Shall  be  free  to  act  with  but  Love's  control. 

Oh !  the  bonds  of  earth  shall  be  sundered  there, 

And  the  soul  shall  freedom  know  ; 
And  the  music-tones  of  each  heart  sound  forth 

With  no  note  of  human  woe  ; 
There   the  poor  of   earth  with   the   crowned  shall 

stand, 
And  no  pride  be  known  in  that  better  land. 

There  the  dwellers  are  free  from  the  power  of  sin, 

And  no  tempter's  wiles  destroy  ; 
There  the  ransomed  dwell  in  that  fold  of  love, 

And  rejoice  in  each  other's  joy  ; 
And  the  Lamb  of  God  leads  his  happy  band 
In  the  verdant  fields  of  that  better  land. 

Oh  !  my  heart  throbs  now  with  exultant  thrill, 

As  I  muse  on  those  joys  in  store 
For  the  soul  that  trusts  in  a  Saviour's  love, 

And  will  seek  to  sin  no  more  ; 
And  by  faith  I'll  clasp  my  Father's  hand, 
To  be  led  by  him  toward  that  better  land. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  41 

He  may  lead  me  down  through  the  vales  of  grief, 

Or  along  joy's  mountain-side  ; 
Yet  I'll  sing  his  praise,  and  I'll  do  his  will, 

And  I'll  trust  in  the  Crucified, 
Till  he  bids  me,  free  from  all  sin,  to  stand 
On  the  joyful  heights  of  that  better  land. 


VERBUM    CONSOLATIONIS. 


rMHOUGH  the  fairest  plant  in  thy  home's  sweet 
_L_  bower 

Is  fading  and  failing,  a  frost-touched  flower ; 
Though  the  loved  and  cherished  of  long  ago 
Treads  earth  with  a  faltering  step  and  slow, 
And  soon,  alas  !  the  sweet  memory 
Of  his  love  will  alone  be  left  to  thee,  — 
Yet  faint  not,  O  disciplined  one  !  by  the  way, 
But  be  thy  Lord's  promise  forever  thy  stay. 

He  has  pledged  thee  his  strength  when  thine  own 

should  fail  ; 

He  will  shelter  thy  cot  from  the  rising  gale  ; 
He'll  be  thy  Rock  in  Life's  sultriest  noon, 
And  thy  kind  Protector  when  all  alone. 
Then  fear  thou  not,  though  the  billows  roar 
Like  the  storm-dashed  surf  on  an  island  shore ; 
Fear  not  in  his  hand  to  place  thine  own, 
Though  thou  treadest  a  path  before  unknown. 


42  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

He  will  lead  thee  onward  and  upward  still, 
If  thy  heart  says  "  Amen  "  to  his  holy  will, 
And  the  flames  of  thy  fiercest  furnace-fire 
Will  only  help  thee  to  mount  up  higher. 
Though  the  angel  Death  shall  invade  thy  bower, 
And  shall  bear  away  thy  loveliest  flower, 
Be  thou  calm  ;  for  he  takes  it  to  bloom  on  high, 
Where  the  glorious  blossoms  he'er  shall  die. 

Oh !  fear  not  to  drink  of  the  cup  He  bestows, 
Who  hath  tasted  the  dregs  of  the  chalice  of  woes. 
In  thy  season  of  grief,  as  in  his  dark  hour, 
Lo !  angels  shall  minister  gently,  with  power 
Thy  grief  to  assuage,  while  the  promises  come 
Reminding  of  heaven,  that  sorrowless  home ; 
And  thy  spirit,  exulting,  at  last  shall  arise, 
To  meet  thy  lost  dear  one  again  in  the  skies. 


THE    COMING    OF   DEATH. 


AS  scents  the  war-horse  battle-fields  afar, 
So,  Death,  thy  coming  doth  my  soul  perceive, 
And,  like  a  soldier  at  the  trumpet's  call, 

Girds  on  its  armor,  ready  to  receive 
The  summons  to  a  conflict,  Death,  with  thee, 
Secure  of  succor  and  of  victory. 

For  angels  wait  to  bathe  my  wounds,  and  place 
To  parching  lips  the  chalice  of  relief ; 

While  Gabriel  whispers,  "  Thou  shalt  overcome  ; 
The  Master  cometh,  and  the  fight  is  brief." 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  43 

And  hark !  the  symphonies  of  heaven  tell 

To  dying  Christians,  "  Fear  not !  all  is  well !  " 

And  though  I  die,  as  early  blossoms  fall, 
Ere  in  my  life  the  ripened  fruits  appear, 

Eternal  ages  will  the  bud  expand, 

Which  found  too  soon  the  winter  of  Life's  year. 

I  shall  not  die,  but  live,  when  Death  for  me 

Shall  cut  the  earth-cords,  and  exclaim, "  Be  free ! " 

Oh  let  me  meet  him,  then,  in  God's  own  time, 
Or  soon,  or  late,  as  he,  my  Father,  wills, 

But  meet  him  e'er  with  summer  in  my  heart, 
Green  fields  of  trust,  and  sympathy's  glad  rills, 

Then,  though  the  din  of  conflict  sharp  may  ring, 
I'll  die  exclaiming,  "  Death  hath  lost  its  sting  I  " 

Yet,  if  it  please  him,  may  his  angel  come 
A  messenger  with  sweet  and  winning  smile, 

To  bear  my  spirit  to  a  land  of  rest, 

Where  sin  can  ne'er  my  spotless  robe  defile ! 

Thy  love,  O  Jesus !  shall  I  there  adore,  — 
Because  thou  livest,  live  forevermore. 


DEATH  AND  VICTORY. 


"  Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory."  —  1  COR.  xv.  54. 


TRIUMPHANT  over  sin  and  death, 
O  Lord !  thy  children  corne, 
With  songs  and  everlasting  joy, 
To  share  their  promised  home. 


44  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

Wide  open  stand  the  glorious  gates 

Of  thine  eternal  day ; 
And  all  the  race  shall  enter  in, 

All  share  the  victory. 

No  frightful  phantom  seemeth  now 

Thy  messenger  to  be  ; 
For,  while  he  bears  our  friends  away, 

His  angel-face  we  see. 
He  points  us  to  the  thorny  path 

Once  by  our  Saviour  trod, 
And  tells  us,  that  through  grief  to  joy 

Shall  pass  each  child  of  God. 

Loud  let  our  song  of  triumph  be, 

Till  heaven's  high  arch  shall  ring : 
The  Grave  hath  lost  its  victory, 

And  Death  hath  lost  its  sting. 
Glory  to  God  !  the  angels  sang ; 

His  praise  our  souls  respond : 
We  trust  the  love  which  placed  us  here 

For  all  that  lies  beyond. 

Unharmed,  with  angel  guards  around, 

Perchance  our  cherished  friends,  — 
In  faith,  O  Lord !  we  calmly  take 

Whate'er  thy  mercy  sends. 
In  life  or  death  we  would  be  thine  ; 

In  Christ  from  sin  made  free  : 
At  last  to  know  with  rapturous  joy 

Death  merged  in  victory. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  45 


FREE   THOUGHT. 


I  STAND  beside  the  ever-rolling  sea, 
And  look  afar  across  the  waters  blue  ; 
The  waters  plash  a  pleasant  tale  to  me, 
While  Luna's  silver  line  of  light  I  view. 

They  tell  of  childhood's  hours,  when,  by  the  deep, 
I  wandered  many  an  hour  in  thoughtful  mood, 

And  solemn  thoughts,  that  in  young  bosoms  sleep, 
Came  to  my  spirit  like  the  breakers  rude. 

Then  felt  my  soul  the  fetters  which  they  know 
Who  fear  the  future,  trusting  not  in  Him 

Who  bids  the  midnight  change  to  morning's  glow, 
And  wipes  the  tears  from  eyes  with  sorrow  dim. 

I  did  not  trust  the  great  All-Father  then, 

Nor  dreamed,  that,  like  the  broad  o'er-arching  sky, 

His  love  bent  over  all  the  sons  of  men, 

And  freedom  gave  to  those  he  called  to  die. 

Now  with  unfettered  gaze  my  faith  can  soar, 
And,  eagle-eyed,  behold  the  Father's  love  ; 

With  joyful  trust  I  now  that  God  adore, 

Who  rules  on  earth  and  in  the  heavens  above. 

Henceforth  my  soul  is  fetterless  to  range 

The  boundless  fields  of  thought,  and  pluck  the 
flowers 

Of  faith  and  love,  which  angels  interchange 
Amid  the  beauty  of  celestial  bowers. 


46  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

Free  thought  is  his  who  owns  a  God  supreme, 
Nor  fears  to  trust  where  vision  may  not  be, 

Assured  that  in  the  end  each  noble  dream 
Shall  rich  fulfilment  find  beyond  Life's  sea. 


LIGHT   IN   DARKNESS. 


"Unto  the  upright  there  ariseth  light  in  the  darkness."  —  PSA.  cxii.  4. 


ONCE  brooded  o'er  chaos  the  Spirit  of  God, 
Ere  the  fiat  creative  was  echoed  abroad  ; 
But  when  the  Divine  One  said,  "  Let  there  be  light," 
The  gladness  of  sunshine  illumined  the  night. 

When  by  the  wayside  sat  Bartimeus  the  blind, 
And  cried,  "  Son  of  David,  have  mercy ! "  how  kind 
Was  the  gentle  Redeemer  who  gave  him  his  sight, 
And  out  of  lone  darkness  brought  him  to  the  light  I 

Where'er  in  the  darkness  God's  servants  did  call,  — 
In  dens  with  the  lions,  or  in  prison  with  Paul, 
By  rulers,  by  earthquake,  or  angel  so  bright,  — 
He  brought  them  to  freedom,  changed  darkness  to 
light. 

Then  trusting  thy  mercy,  believing  thy  word, 
I'll  struggle  still  onward  and  upward,  my  Lord :  - 
In  trials  or  temptations  my  utt'rance  shall  be,  — 
"  Give  light  in  the  darkness,  O  Saviour,  to  me !  " 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  47 

And  when  all  the  clouds  of  my  earth-life  pass  by, 
And  I  gaze  with  soul-vision  unsealed  to  the  sky, 
Oh  bid  my  freed  spirit  dwell  henceforth  with  thee, 
Where  light,  without  darkness,  forever  shall  be  ! 


THE    STILL   HOUR. 


SWEET  is  the  morning  hour  for  praise, 
For  trustful,  earnest  prayer, 
When  early  birds  their  matins  sing, 

And  flowers  perfume  the  air ; 
With  strength  renewed  we  rise  to  share 

The  labors  of  the  day, 
While  wisdom  prompts  us  then  to  seek  • 
A  sweet,  "  still  hour  "  to  pray. 

When  noon  unclouded  clothes  the  earth 

With  emblematic  light, 
How  oft  the  saint  in  faith  beholds 

The  land  where  all  is  bright ! 
And  as  his  eye  of  faith  shall  see 

The  glory  yet  to  come, 
Oh,  may  he  not  a  "  still  hour  "  seek 

To  muse  on  that  bright  home  ! 

When  twilight  stillness  round  his  path 

Proclaims  the  peace  of  God, 
So  sweetly  shared  by  all  who  tread 

The  path  by  Jesus  trod,  — 


48  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

A  thorny,  yet  an  upward  way, 

Where  strength  for  toil  is  given,  — 

How  sweet  to  claim  that  holy  time, 
A  lone,  still  hour  for  heaven ! 

And  when  the  night  with  starry  quiet, 

Or  moonlit  peace,  shall  come, 
How  welcome  then  a  lone,  "  still  hour," 

For  thoughts  of  that  glad  home 
Towards  which  we  trust  our  steps  may  tend, 

Though  we  in  weakness  tread 
The  rough,  the  labyrinthine  path 

In  which  we  oft  are  led  ! 

O  God  !  who  in  the  hour  of  prayer 

Thy  children  here  doth  meet, 
And  lift  the  humble,  contrite  soul 

Which  boweth  at  thy  feet, 
Give  me  to  bend  in  reverent  trust, 

And  in  thy  love  to  share, 
Whene'er,  by  day  or  night,  I  find 

The  sweet,  "  still  hour  "  of  prayer ! 


"  GOD  IS  LOVE."  —  1  JOHN  iv.  8. 


AH  !  well  might  he  upon  Christ's  bosom  leaning, 
The  chosen  few  above, 

Declare  the  truth,  with  zeal  not  overweening, 
That  God,  our  God,  is  love. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  49 

Our  God  is  love :  his  smile  clothes  earth  in  beauty, 

And  robes  it  with  delight ; 
And  every  heart  that  heeds  the  call  of  duty 

That  love  shall  clothe  in  white. 

Fair  as  the  morning  is  the  soul  that  loveth 

All  things  below,  above, 
Which  he,  the  wise  and  holy  One,  appro veth, 

Growing  like  him  in  love. 

Our  God  is  love,  when  fair  and  fragrant  flowers 

Our  daily  pathway  strew, 
From  his  hand  falling  like  the  summer  showers, 

Or  like  the  gentle  dew. 

Aye,  God  is  love,  e'en  when  the  crashing  thunder 

Follows  the  lightning's  stroke  ; 
E'en  when  the  ties  of  earth  are  rent  asunder, 

And  human  hearts  are  broke. 

Then  let  us  trust  him,  and  our  love  be  showing 

By  deeds  of  love  to  all, 
Forever  in  his  blessed  likeness  growing, 

Till  we  shall  hear  Death's  call. 

And  when  the  parted  veil  opes  to  our  vision, 

These  truths  all  thought  above, 
Amid  the  bliss  which  fills  the  fields  elysian, 

We'll  echo,  "  God  is  love." 


60  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

THE   LAST   SUPPER. 


IT  was  an  evening  in  the  Holy  Land, 
When  Jesus  gathered  his  disciples  dear : 
The  Jews'  Passover  feast  was  nigh  at  hand, 

And  they  were  met  their  Master's  words  to  hear. 
By  his  own  hand  the  faithful  few  were  fed  ; 

They  drank  the  cup  he  gave  them  in  that  hour, 
Nor  saw  the  clouds  that  gathered  round  his  head, 
Nor  dreamed  for  them  he'd  bow  to  Caesar's  power. 

Though  on  the  hills  around  Jerusalem 

He  oft  had  wandered  with  the  chosen  few, 
And  taught  the  holy  prophecies  to  them 

Who  ne'er  before  their  deepest  meaning  knew, 
They  dreamed  not   of  his   death,  but  would   have 
crowned 

The  Meek  and  Lowly  as  a  conquering  King : 
How  could  they  bear  to  have  their  Master  bound  ? 

How  know  he  must  o'ercome  through  suffering  ? 

Upon  his  breast  his  best-loved  follower  leaned, 

While  round  him  there  Christ's  arms  in  love  were 

thrown : 
How  from  such  holy  joy  could  John  be  weaned  ? 

How  walk  the  paths  of  earth  again  alone  ? 
Yet  ere  the  morning  must  that  Master  sigh 

Beneath  the  shades  of  fair  Gethsemane, 
And  while  angelic  ministers  are  nigh, 

Must  bear,  O  sinner,  sorrow's  weight  for  thee ! 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  51 

The  supper  o'er,  and  Judas  far  away, 

His  cheering  words  of  love  our  Saviour  spake, 
Then  prayed  for  all  who  near  his  cross  should  stay, 

Then  bade  the  echoes  with  a  hymn  awake : 
Thus  prayer  and  music  blended  in  that  hour, 

With  pathos,  melody,  and  love  divine, 
Twin  influences  that  o'er  the  soul  have  power 

A  holy  wreath  around  the  heart  to  twine. 

O  Saviour  blest!  whene'er  I  bend  the  knee, 

Or  sing  the  songs  of  Zion  to  thy  praise, 
I'll  think,  in  love  and  faith,  how  thou  for  me 

Once  trod,  in  holy  grief,  earth's  weary  ways. 
And  oh !  as  I  shall  at  thy  table  bow, 

And  taste  the  bread  and  wine  with  grateful  heart, 
How  oft  my  tears  must  fall  that  such  as  thou 

Must  die  to  win  me  to  the  better  part ! 


O   RIVER   OF   GOD,   ROLL   ON! 


[Suggested  by  a  sermon  preached  by  Rev.  J.  C.  Foster,  Oct.  13,  1861,  in 
First  Baptist  Church,  Beverly,  from  the  text,  "  There  is  a  river  the  streams 
whereof  shall  make  glad  the  city  of  God."] 


O   RIVER  of  God !  roll  on  e'ermore. 
On  the  bright  and  blissful  tide 
Have  our  saints  now  safe  on  the  heavenly  shore 

Been  borne  to  the  Saviour's  side. 
Our  loved  ones  shine  in  their  robes  of  white, 

All  cleansed  in  thy  crystal  stream, 
In  the  image  of  him  they  love,  more  bright 
Than  the  sheen  of  a  fairy  dream. 


52  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

O  river  of  God !  roll  on :  in  thee 

Exulting,  I'd  bathe  my  soul, 
Till  my  sin-stained  spirit  was  pure  and  free, 

And  each  thought  knew  loveVcontrol. 
Salvation  is  in  thy  gentle  flow  : 

Thy  waters  have  power  to  heal ; 
Their  taste,  O  God !  bid  my  soul  to  know, 

Their  virtues  my  heart  to  feel. 

O  river  of  God  !  roll  on,  and  still, 

Like  the  river  the  prophet  saw, 
May  thy  waters  deepen,  thy  channels  fill, 

Till  the  world  can  hold  no  more ! 
And  the  timid  saint  may  God  inspire 

With  the  strength  earth  may  not  know, 
To  swim  when  thy  waters,  rising  higher, 

His  head  would  overflow ! 

O  river  of  God !  roll  on,  roll  on, 

In  thy  channels  broad  and  deep  ; 
With  tide  unebbing  still  flow  on 

While  the  nations  wake  and  sleep. 
O'er  thy  flowery  banks  hang  the  healing  leaves, 

On  the  trees  so  large  and  fair, 
Whose  fruit  the  voyager  with  joy  receives, 

And  angels'  food  may  share. 

O  river  of  God !  roll  on,  roll  on, 

Till  thy  waves  shall  skirt  each  shore, 

Till  the  wide,  wide  world  shall  be  fruitful  made 
By  thy  fertilizing  power, 

Till  the  far-off  heathen  no  more  shall  bow 
Where  a  Ganges  in  vain  may  glide, 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  £ 

But  wash  from  his  soul  earth's  sin  and  woe 
In  thy  glad  and  sparkling  tide. 

O  river  of  God  !  roll  on,  roll  on, 

Thy  waves  no  bar  shall  know ; 
Flow  on  till  the  break  of  the  endless  morn ; 

Unhindered,  through  Time,  still  flow  ! 
And  when  thy  vast  waters  the  sea  shall  gain, 

God's  ocean  of  love  and  joy, 
High  praises  shall  sound  far  o'er  the  bright  main, 

Whose  echoes  no  more  shall  die. 


REJOICE   EVERMORE. 


E JOICE  that  the  day  of  thy  life  is  begun  ; 
JL\  Rejoice  though  the  night  of  the  grave  cometh 

on; 
For  both  must  be   known   ere,  on  heaven's   bright 

shore, 
Thou  wilt  sing  with  the  angels,  and  sigh  nevermore. 

Rejoice  though  the  tempest-cloud  darkens  above, 
Though  thy  hopes  may  be  blighted,  and  crushed  be 

thy  love  :    v 

Those  hopes  yet  will  blossom,  the  storm  will  be  o'er, 
And  thy  love  be  returned  where  they  love  evermore. 

Rejoice  though,  through  weakness,  sometimes  thou 

may'st  fall : 
For  the  God  who  would  save  thee  still  rules  over  all ; 


54  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

The  Shepherd  still  ranges  the  dark  mountains  o'er, 
To  gather  the  lost,  that  they  sin  nevermore 

Rejoice  !  e'en  afflictions  are  joys  in  disguise, 

And  tears  shall  but  banish  the  dust  from  thine  eyes. 

Why  go  about  sighing  for  joys  that  are  o'er  ? 

In  God's  garner  of  bliss  there  are  sheaves  evermore. 

All  grief  shall  depart ;  and  the  sorrows  of  Time 
Shall  seem  but  the  echoes  of  some  far-off  chime  ; 
And  the  thorns  that  grew  thick  in  our  pathways  of 

yore 
Shall  change  to  the  flowers  that  shall  fade  nevermore. 

Rejoice,  then,  rejoice  !  for  all  sorrow  and  sin, 
All  the  cares  of  our  earth-life,  its  trouble  and  din, 
All  the  conflicts  of  Right  with  the  Wrong,  shall  be 

o'er, 
And  the  victors  o'er  evil  rejoice  evermore. 

Rejoice !  where  the  angels  their  white  wings  unfold, 
Through  the  gateways  of  pearl,  o'er  the  pavements 

of  gold, 

Our  glad  feet  shall  pass,  all  our  journeyings'  o'er, 
And  we'll  rest  in  the  land  where  they  weep  never 
more. 

Rejoice  !   for  the  souls  it  was  bliss  here  to  know 
Shall  greet  us  again  when  from  hence  we  shall  go  ; 
And  the  songs  that  together  we'll  sing  on  that  shore 
Shall  have  for  their  chorus,  "  Rejoice  evermore." 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  55 


A   VISION   BY   FAITH. 


rMHAT  land  of  delight,  my  soul's  Beulah,  I  see, 
JL    As  I  think  of  thy  home,  blessed  Saviour !   and 

thee ; 

And  my  spirit  is  longing  that  land  to  behold, 
Of  whose  glory  and  beauty  the  half  was  ne'er  told. 

It  needs  not  the  sunshine  all  glorious  and  bright ; 
It  needs  not  the  moonbeams  which  beautify  night ; 
For  each  hillside  is  lit  by  the  glory  of  God, 
And  the  Lamb  lights  the  vales  where  the  ransomed 
have  trod. 

There  the  saints  I  have  loved,  whose  bright  crowns 

are  now  won, 

And  whose  work  for  the  Master  was  faithfully  done, 
Will  gather  to  meet  me,  with  smiles  as  of  yore, 
Where  my  bark  shall  be  moored,  as  I  step  on  that 

shore. 

There  a  mother  whose  form  I've  ne'er  consciously 

seen, 

But  who  looked  in  my  infant  face,  loving,  I  ween, 
Will  welcome  her  storm-tossed  and  travel-worn  child, 
To  a  haven  of  rest,  to  a  land  undefiled. 

O  vision  of  glory  !  still  linger  with  me, 
Till  I  float  calmly  forth  on  eternity's  sea,  — 
Till  I  near  the  blest  harbor,  and  Jesus  shall  say, 
"  Cast  anchor,  O  voyager  !  in  heaven's  broad  bay." 


66  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 


A  MORNING  WITHOUT   CLOUDS. 


Tj^EW  are  the  mornings  that  are  cloudless  here, 
_lJ     Few  the  glad  hours  that  know  no  gloomy  shade  ; 
But  one  bright  morning  will  at  last  appear 
Radiant  as  if  with  angel-robes  arrayed. 

The  morn  that  breaks  upon  the  ransomed  soul 
When  from  the  bonds  of  flesh  and  sin  set  free, 
While  Passion's  waves  no  longer  wildly  roll, 
And  the  frail  bark  floats  not  on  Sorrow's  sea,  — 

The  cloudless  morn !  it  ushers  in  the  day, 
Glad,  bright,  and  beautiful,  that  ne'er  shall  end : 
How  blest  are  they  who  hope  to  greet  its  ray, 
And  ceaseless  ages  in  its  light  to  spend ! 

Hearts  that  are  throbbing  o'er  some  hope  deferred, 
Eyes  that  are  dim  with  weeping  all  the  day 
O'er  homes  grown  desolate,  have  gladly  heard, 
And  patient  wait  the  hour  to  pass  away. 

Waiting  beside  the  river !  —  soon  to  speed 
Across  the  billows  to  the  land  of  rest,  — 
The  home  for  all  God's  children,  Avhere,  indeed, 
The  loving  spirit  shall  at  last  be  blest. 

O  morning  without  clouds  !   my  spirit-bark 

Is  waiting  now  beside  the  solemn  sea. 

Come  in  thy  brightness !  light  each  pathway  dark, 

And  give  the  radiant  gladness  now  to  me. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  57 

I  do  not  fear  to  greet  thee  :  I  have  seen 
Pale  faces  glow  beneath  thy  wondrous  light, 
And  on  the  silent  lips  a  smile  serene  ; 
And  I  would  follow  to  the  land  of  light. 

Break  then,  O  cloudless  morn !  break  thou  for  me, 
Whene'er  my  earthly  toils  and  griefs  are  o'er  ; 
Then,  with  exultant  joy,  I'll  cross  Death's  sea, 
And  greet  my  crowned  ones  on  Life's  farther  shore. 


LIGHT  AND   LIBERTY. 


r  I  THE  light  that  lighteth  every  man," 
-L  How  fair  it  shone 

When  o'er  the  hills  of  Palestine 

One  star  alone 

Gleamed  with  a  radiance  that  can  never  die 
Till  God's  dear  children  reach  their  home  on  high ! 

The  liberty  wherewith  our  Lord 

Doth  make  men  free, 
A  thought  of  which  awakes  the  song 

Of  jubilee  ! 

How  doth  the  cross  symbolic  prove 
Of  freedom,  based  on  perfect  love  ! 

O  Light  and  Liberty  !  sweet  words, 

Which  in  this  hour 
To  stir  the  faithful-hearted  in  our  land 

Have  magic  power. 


58  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

Christ  hath  proclaimed  them  both :  their  dawn 
Came  with  the  hour  when  the  Christ-child  was  born. 

Thank  God  for  light  on  human  pathways  thrown,  — 

The  truth's  glad  ray ; 
Thanks  for  the  liberty  from  sin's  dread  bonds 

In  endless  day, 

While  mortals  join  the  angel-anthem  sweet, 
And  sing  the  glorious  work  of  Christ  complete. 

Then  light  and  liberty  shall  be  secured 

To  all  the  race  ; 
And  the  glad  tidings  which  the  shepherds  heard 

Shall  then  give  place 

To  victors'  shouts  upon  the  heavenly  plains, 
And  the  glad  acclamation,  "  Jesus  reigns  !  " 


NO   MORE   TEARS. 


"  The  Lord  God  shall  wipe  the  tears  from  off  all  faces."  —  ISA.  xxv. 
"  God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes."  — REV.  vii.  17. 


r  I  TEARS  shall  not  fall  in  the  world  of  joy 
JL      Towards  which  our  steps  are  tending. 
Our  crowns  shall  be  gold  without  alloy, 
Our  songs  have  no  grief-tone  blending. 

Tears  shall  not  glisten  in  eyes  we  love, 
Our  hearts  for  their  dear  sakes  grieving, 

When  they  reach  the  land  of  light  above, 
This  world  of  shadows  leaving. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  59 

Tears  shall  not  moisten  the  cheek  we  press 
With  the  kiss  of  friendly  greeting : 

All  free  from  sorrow,  the  fond  caress 
That  awaits  us  in  that  meeting, 

Where  the  promise  fulfilled  to  us  shall  be, 
And  tears  are  wiped  from  all  faces  ; 

Where  the  heart  that  throbbed  so  wearily 
Shall  find  of  grief  no  traces. 

A  little  while  through  the  night  fall  tears ; 

But  the  glad  bright  day  is  dawning  : 
Our  sins  shall  vanish,  our  griefs,  our  fears,  — 

Joy  conies  with  the  coming  morning. 


THE   FEAST  OF   LIFE. 


rTIHE  feast  of  life  is  sweet: 

JL      I  am  no  weary  guest ; " 

But  joyful  at  my  Saviour's  feet 

I  heed  his  high  behest. 
I  eat  the  living  bread, 

I  quaff  the  draught  divine  ; 
And  love  within  my  heart  is  shed, 

And  light  doth  round  me  shine. 

'Tis  sweet  to  taste  his  love 

Whom  cross-crowned  Calvary  knew ; 
Sweet  to  look  hopefully  above, 

Where  soon  we  hope  to  go. 


60  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

My  soul  feeds  on  thy  word, 

And  strength  receives  from  thee : 

I  weary  not  of  thee,  my  Lord ; 
Oh,  weary  not  of  me  ! 

When  in  thy  presence  blest, 

From  sorrow  free  I  stand, 
See  thee  with  John  upon  thy  breast, 

And  Paul  at  thy  right  hand, 
Oh,  with  exultant  joy, 

My  Master,  I  shall  sing  ! 
Thy  praise  shall  be  my  soul's  employ, 

Till  heaven's  high  arch  shall  ring. 

For,  at  the  heavenly  feast 

Where  thy  new  wine  is  poured, 
I  ne'er  shall  be  a  weary  guest, 

Since  thou  art  there,  my  Lord. 
Sweet  to  my  sin-freed  soul 

The  bliss  I  then  shall  share  ; 
Sweet  are  the  foretastes  now  to  me, 

While  yet  a  pilgrim  here. 

Like  glimpses  fair  and  bright 

Seen  through  the  morning  mist, 
So  to  my  faith's  cloud-piercing  sight 

Appears  the  land  of  rest. 
Calmly  I  wait  thine  hour, 

Yet  stand  with  ready  feet, 
To  heed  thy  call  to  that  bright  shore, 

Thy  face,  my  Lord,  to  greet. 

A  pilgrim  weak  am  I, 

And  oft  from  thee  I  stray ; 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  61 

But  oh,  I  would  reach  yonder  sky, 

I  would  be  thine  alway  ! 
Still  at  the  feast  of  life, 

For  strength  let  me  sit  down, 
Till  victor,  through  thee,  in  the  strife, 

I  wear  the  conqueror's  crown. 


NEARER. 


"XTEARER?  yes,  I'm  nearer  now 
JLl         The  silent,  solemn  sea 
Which  rolls  between  my  weary  heart, 

Jerusalem  !  and  thee. 
I'm  nearer  to  the  boatman  now  : 

He  soon  will  shout  "  Away !  " 
Oh !  to  my  home  beyond  the  sea 

I'm  nearer  every  day. 

Some  days  are  dreary,  some  bring  tears, 

Some  undefined-  regret ; 
While  on  some  golden  hours,  thank  God ! 

Hope's  radiance  lingers  yet. 
But  whether  days  be  dark  or  bright, 

The  moments  swift  or  slow, 
Time  stops  not  in  his  steady  flight, 

And  onward  still  we  go. 

On  the  green  hillsides  of  yon  shore 

Our  loved  ones  calmly  wait ; 
And  angel  forms  to  welcome  us 

Half  open  heaven's  gate. 


62  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN'  FAITH. 

Oh,  rapturous  thought !  that  rest,  sweet  rest, 

Will  soon  to  us  be  given, 
Since  every  hour  the  child  of  God 

Is  drawing  nearer  heaven. 

O  Saviour !  as  we  thus  draw  near 

The  throne,  the  crystal  sea, 
The  holy  throng,  the  heavenly  choir, 

We're  drawing  nearer  thee,  — 
Nearer  the  hour  when  we,  whose  feet 

The  olive  slopes  ne'er  trod 
Or  shores  of  far-off  Galilee 

Where  walked  the  Son  of  God, 

Shall  see  his  face,  shall  hear  his  voice, 

Shall  touch  that  pierced  hand, 
And  on  the  brow,  thorn-crowned  for  us, 

Shall  gaze,  and  silent  stand. 
Oh,  thought  to  cheer  my  weary  way, 

With  welcome  radiance  come  ! 
Let  me  remember  that  each  day 

I'm  drawing  nearer  home  ! 


JOYS    TO    COME. 


joys  of  earth  are  manifold, 
_L        Our  every  footstep  greeting  ; 
And  birds  and  flowers,  and  hills  and  streams, 
In  beauty  we  are  meeting. 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  63 

Yet  earth  is  not  our  only  home, 

The  thought  brings  sweet  emotion : 

Our  brightest  joys  we  hope  to  share 
Beyond  Life's  stormy  ocean. 

We  love  our  glad  green  earthly  homes, 

Our  bright  and  sparkling  waters, 
The  rich  communion  here  we  hold 

With  earth's  fair  sons  and  daughters ; 
But  oh !  that  home  we  hope  to  gain, 

Far,  far  above  the  mountains, 
Has  greener  fields  and  bluer  skies, 

And  purer,  sweeter  fountains.  "\ 

Beyond  the  grave,  where  not  a  soul 

By  mem'ries  sad  is  haunted,  • 

But  where  the  wondrous  healing-tree 

By  Life's  fair  stream  is  planted, 
There  is  our  home,  with  joy  more  rare 

Than  told  in  Eastern  story  ; 
And  Christ's  dear  smile  its  light  shall  give 

Through  all  that  realm  of  glory. 


"WE    SHALL    BE    LIKE    HIM." 


WE  shall  be  like  him  !  "     Here  the  mists  of  sin 
Oft  cloud  the  brightness  which  might  beam 
within, 

And,  by  our  souls  reflected,  bid  them  shine 
With  likeness  to  their  Master,  loved,  divine. 


64  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

But  there  unclouded  shall  our  vision  be  ; 
Each  soul  unhindered,  heaven's  light  shall  see  ; 
And  glory  unimagined  gild  the  day 
Which  dawns  for  us  when  earth  is  passed  away. 

"  We  shall  be  like  him !  "     Here  we  strive  in  vain. 
Sin  mars  the  work  we  hoped  would  fair  remain ; 
And  when  some  virtue  rises  in  the  soul, 
Pride  scales  the  mount,  and  overthrows  the  whole. 

But  there  we  shall  be  purified  from  sin, 
Made  beautiful  without  and  glorious  within  ; 
And,  humble  like  our  Master,  bow  us  down 
In  lowly  reverence  to  receive  a  crown. 

"  We  shall  be  like  him !  "     Oh,  what  rapturous  bliss 

For  Christian  hearts  is  in  a  pledge  like  this ! 

To  be  like  thee,  our  Lord,  is  to  be  free 

From  every  tie  which  holds  us  now  from  thee. 

It  is  to  dwell  where  love  shall  reign  supreme, 
And  beauty  shall  excel  our  fairest  dream, 
And  holiness,  a  glowing  sun,  shall  shine,  — 
Rich  synonymes  which  speak  of  the  Divine. 

"  We  shall  be  like  him  "  when  we  take  the  crown 
Where  weights  of  bliss  shall  bow  each  spirit  down. 
O  soul  of  mine  !  be  patient  till  the  hour 
Which  strikes  the  end  of  sin's  terrific  power. 

Then  let  praise  be  given,  Lord,  to  thee  ; 
For  thou  alone  the  captive  soul  can  free. 
The  bliss  of  being  like  thee  shaH  be  mine  ; 
But  all  the  glory,  blessed  Lord,  is  thine  ! 


POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH.  65 


THE  PURPOSE  OF  CREATION. 


"  Thou  hast  created  all  things,  and  for  thy  pleasure  they  are  and  were 
created."  —  REV.  iv.  2. 


\f  ES,  for  thy  pleasure,  Lord, 

JL       All  things  in  heaven  and  all  in   earth  were 

made,  — 

Morn's  welcome  light,  and  evening's  holy  shade, 
The  many  stars  that^gem  the  midnight  sky, 
The  bright-hued  flowers  that  all  earth  beautify, 
The  grand  old  forest  monarchs  in  their  pride, 
The  mighty  ocean,  fathomless  and  wide,  — 
All  for  thy  pleasure,  Lord. 

Yes,  for  thy  pleasure,  Lord, 
The  mountains  crested  with  eternal  snows, 
The  glaciers  that  in  far-off  ages  froze, 
Each  wondrous  stratum  of  the  solid  earth, 
And  every  form  of  life  that  e'er  had  birth,  — 
All  for  thy  pleasure  were  created,  Lord : 
Thou  call'dst  them  to  existence  with  thy  word, 

All  for  thy  pleasure,  Lord. 

Man  for  thy  pleasure,  Lord, 
Was  in  thy  image  made,  when  light  broke  o'er 
Those  Eden  tree-tops  in  the  days  of  yore  ; 
And  though  that  death  which  is  but  second  birth 
Must  be  a  portion  of  the  sons  of  earth, 
Yet  surely  not  to  die  forevermore 
Did'st  thou  make  him  who  lords  creation  o'er, 

But  for  thy  pleasure,  Lord. 

5 


66  POEMS  OF  CHRISTIAN  FAITH. 

And  thy  great  pleasure,  Lord, — 
God  of  the  good,  the  beautiful,  the  true ! 
God  whom  the  angels  pure  adoring  view,  — 
Is,  that  the  life  thou  gavest  be  sanctified, 
And  thy  dear  Son,  who  for  the  race  hath  died, 
Shall  lead  at  last,  where  sweet,  soft  waters  glide, 
The  faithful  flock,  and  each  stray  lamb  beside : 

Such  is  thy  pleasure,  Lord. 


POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


TO  MABELLE. 


[In  response  to  anonymous  lines  inscribed  to  the  writer.] 

"  Grief  knits  two  hearts  iii  closer  bonds  than  happiness  ever  can ;  and 
common  sufferings  are  far  stronger  links  than  common  joys."  —  LAMAKTINE. 

"  Grace  be  with  all  who  love  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ  in  sincerity  and 
truth."— ST.  PAUL. 

li  The  human  heart  is  like  heaven,  —  the  more  angels  the  more  room." 
—  FREDERIKA  BREMEB. 


MABELLE  !  friend,  I  now  shall  call  thee, 
Though  perchance  I  never  see 
Thy  face,  'mid  the  dear  ones  hanging 

"  On  the  walls  of  memory." 
Mabelle,  as  a  friend  draw  nearer, 
And  reveal  thyself  to  me. 

They  who  can  in  tuneful  numbers 

Touch  with  joy  the  poet's  lyre  ; 
They  upon  whose  spirit-altars 

Burns  the  poet's  holy  fire,  — 
Surely  they  can  ne'er  be  strangers, 

Members  of  the  same  sweet  choir. 

69 


70  POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

Friend  !  —  nay,  more,  I  call  thee  sister,  — 
Suffering,  human  hearts  can  bind, 

In  a  union  purer,  stronger, 
Than  if  mutual  joys  intwined 

Those  who,  in  the  bonds  of  friendship, 
Sweet  communion  oft  may  find. 

Oft  have  I  at  sorrow's  fountain 

Quaffed  the  bitter  draught  with  tears, 

Struggled  in  the  night  of  suffering 
With  besetting  human  fears, 

Said  "  Farewell  "  with  aching  spirit 
To  the  loved  of  many  years. 

So  I  hail  thee  as  a  sister, 

To  my  heart  by  sorrow  bound ; 

And  I  mourn  with  thee  thy  dear  ones, 
Resting  'n^ath  each  lowly  mound, 

For  their  sakes  grown  holy,  precious,  — 
Thine  own  consecrated  ground. 

More  than  this !  my  spirit  claims  thee 

As  a  sister,  Mabelle,  now, 
Since,  beneath  the  rod  of  chastening, 

Meekly  doth  thy  spirit  bow, 
And  the  mark  of  a  disciple 

Angels  see  upon  thy  brow. 

I  love  all  who  love  my  Saviour, 
Whatso'er  their  creed  or  name, 

Asking  but  that  their  devotion 
Rise  a  pure,  perennial  flame, 

Daily  deeds  of  love  attesting 

Whence  the  sacred  incense  came. 


POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  71 

So  I  hail  thee  as  a  sister, 

In  the  bonds  that  shall  endure  ; 
And  my  heart  with  thine  is  beating, 

Keeping  time  forevermore, 
Hoping  oft  again  to  meet  thee 

Here,  and  on  Life's  farther  shore. 

Yes,  the  spirit,  ever  growing, 

Vacant  chambers  e'er  shall  know, 

Without  sending  forth  a  tenant 
Of  the  spirit  long  ago, 

Like  those  mansions  where  the  ransomed 
Pass  in  gladness  to  and  fro. 

In  the  soul  each  day  expanding, 
Fast  the  "  many  mansions  "  grow  ; 

Some  of  which  the  death-sealed  tenant, 
Some  for  friends  still  here  below, 

Some  for  angels,  and  the  saved  ones 
Of  the  land  to  which  we  go. 

Yes :  I  have  a  "  vacant  chamber." 

Thou  shalt  be  a  welcome  guest, 
If  my  love,  for  Christ's  sake  given, 

Can  make  thee  a  moment  blest, 
Whispering  the  eternal  password, 

Mabelle,  "  Enter  there  and  rest." 


72  POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 


JE  VOUS  REMERCIE. 


r  M  HANKS  for  the  gift  whose  gilded  edges  glow, 
JL      Whose  pencilled  landscapes  far-off  beauty 

show : 

For  years  to  come,  if  years  to  come  be  mine, 
Friendship's  sweet  halo  shall  around  it  shine  ; 
And  every  piece  shall  speak  to  me  of  thee, 
Who  kindly  sped  the  welcome  gift  to  me. 

I  shall  recall  the  mention  of  thy  sire, 
Revered  and  reverend,  who,  with  holy  fire 
From  shrines  all  holy,  spoke  to  men  of  God, 
And  beckoned  them  to  tread  the  path  he  trod, 
Whose  flowers  and  thorns  to  virtue  led  the  soul, 
Whose  end  was  joy  while  pauseless  ages  roll. 

When  from  these  cups  the  Oriental  draught, 
With  eager  haste,  my  willing  lips  shall  quaff, 
Sweet  as  the  cane  whose  essence  shall  be  there 
Will  come  the  memoiy  of  thy  friendly  care  ; 
And  in  the  harmless  cup  which  only  cheers, 
I'll  drink  to  thee,  —  God  bless  thy  future  years ! 

God  give  thee  health,  and  grant  that  e'er  on  thee 
Each  wrinkle  shall  a  line  of  beauty  be, 
Which  Time  may  place  upon  the  mortal  brow, 
Till  death  shall  bid  thy  soul  with  seraphs  bow, 
And  the  long  pilgrimage  of  earth  be  done, 
Life's  final  battle  fought,  and  victory  won. 


POKMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  73 

God  bless  both  thee  and  thine  till  we  shall  drink 

A  sweeter  draught  than  earth's  from  the  fair  brink 

Of  that  fair  river  flowing  soft,  serene, 

Where  healing  leaves  and  precious  fruit  are  seen, 

And  all  the  sin-freed  host  rejoice  for  aye 

In  the  pure  splendor  of  celestial  day. 


BIRTHDAY   STANZAS. 


MOTHER,  my  heart  is  with  thee  now 
I  fain  at  thy  dear  knee  would  bow, 
And  feel  thy  kiss  upon  my  brow. 

Another  birthday  thou  hast  known  ; 
And  forty-seven  suns  have  shone 
On  thee,  my  mother  dear,  mine  own. 


Thank  God,  my  spirit  says,  for  thee,  — 
"  God's  'bodied  blessing  "  e'er  to  me  : 
Oh  would  that  I  thy  face  could  see  ! 


I  may  not  clasp  thy  hand  to-night ; 
But  I  may  seek,  with  thee,  the  light, 
That  I  may  walk  with  thee  in  white. 

Hope  looketh  to  a  fairer  shore ; 

And  Faith  oft  views  its  green  fields  o'er, 

Where  we  shall  rest  forevermore  ;  — 


74  POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

Where  the  great  ocean,  wild  and  free, 
Shall  sever  not  my  steps  from  thee, 
And  we  shall  both  our  Saviour  see. 

Pray  on,  loved  mother,  for  thy  child, 

That  Christ  may  shield  when  storms  are  wild, 

And  keep  my  spirit  undefiled. 

And  I  will  ask,  that,  sin-forgiven, 
My  "  mother  Ellen  "  enter  heaven, 
Wearing  the  crown  for  which  she's  striven. 

And  when  the  angels  gather  round, 
Thine  escort  o'er  the  hallowed  ground, 
By  thy  dear  side  may  I  be  found ! 


SIXTIETH   BIRTHDAY   OF   F.    BARDEN. 


E'RE  gathered  here  to  greet  one  friend  to-night 
With  loving  words  and  kindly  clasp  of  hand, 
To  say  that  we  are  glad  the  Reaper  Death 

Hath  left  this  ripened  sheaf  with  us  to  stand  : 
Too  oft  he  gathers  fairest  flowers,  and  leaves 
To  long,  dark  years  the  hearts  he  thus  bereaves. 

But  we  are  gathered,  too,  with  grateful  hearts 
For  all  the  bounties  of  that  boundless  love 


POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  75 

Which  gives  us  health  and  friends  and  every  gift 

To  win  our  hearts,  and  bid  us  look  above 
To  that  fair  land  where  we  shall  meet  again 
The  loved  and  lost  of  earth,  all  free  from  Bin. 

We  think  of  such  to-night :  we  cannot  meet 
In  friendly  converse  with  the  dear  ones  left, 

Without  some  thoughts  of  those  who  earlier  passed, 
And  left  our  hearts  to  mourn,  that,  thus  bereft, 

Wo  must  walk  onward  through  Life's  lengthened  day, 

Nor  hope  to  meet  them  till  we  pass  away.  \ 

_-> 

Yet  while  sweet    thoughts    of   blessings    that  have 
flown, 

Which  brighten  with  the  swiftly  rolling  years, 
Still  linger  in  our  hearts  like  music  tones, 

We  bless  our  God  for  all  that  Life  endears,  — 
For  friends  remaining  still  upon  this  shore, 
Till  God's  call  comes  to  sail  the  great  sea  o'er. 

O  friend !  whose  birthday  we  remember  now 

With  grateful  hearts  that  God  hath  sent  thee  here, 

To  tread  the  ways  of  virtue  and  of  truth, 

And  many  a  heart  to  bless,  and  path  to  cheer, 

We  come  to-night  to  clasp  thy  hand  in  love, 

And  ask  for  thee  the  blessing  from  above. 

We  thank  the  Guiding  Mercy  that  hath  led 
Thy  feet  to  tread  in  Wisdom's  better  way, 

And  hath  thine  industry  and  labor  blest 
With  good  success  as  we  behold  this  day ; 

But  most  of  all  hath  helped  thee  well  to  know, 

That  noble  deeds  assist  the  soul  to  grow. 


76  POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

God  bless  thee  still,  and  bless  with  thee  the  friend, 
Long  years  ago  thy  loved  and  chosen  bride, 

And  still  by  mercy  spared  to  tread  Life's  path 
E'en  to  thy  sixtieth  birthday,  at  thy  side  : 

God  spare  you,  with  each  present,  absent  friend, 

To  meet  full  oft  ere  life  on  earth  shall  end. 

And  when  we  part  to  meet  no  more  below ; 

When,  one  by  one,  we're  summoned  to  the  skies,— 
Love's  golden  chain  will  still  unbroken  be, 

And  to  our  Father's  house  we  all  shall  rise : 
Let  this  thought  make  more  glad  this  festive  hour, 
That  we  are  subjects  of  God's  sovereign  power. 

Nor  yet  his  Power  alone,  but  Sovereign  LOVE, 
Which  sees  the  falling  sparrow,  counts  each  hair, 

Guides  every  star  through  space,  and  deems  no  soul 
Beyond  the  sweep  of  his  paternal  care. 

He  will  be  with  us  till  our  lives  shall  end, 

And  in  his  home,  at  last,  join  friend  with  friend. 


WHAT   SHALL  I  WISH  FOR  THEE  ? 


WHAT  shall  I  wish  for  thee  ?  long  life  on  earth, 
Or  wealth,  or  pleasure,  or  the  magic  power 
To  wield  a  sceptre  over  human  hearts, 

And  make  them  bow  to  thee  through  Life's  short 
hour? 


POEMS  OF  FRIENDSHIP.  77 

Not  so  :  the  joys  of  earth  will  fade  away  ; 

Its  power  and  pleasure  are  but  bubbles  bright ; 
The  longest  life  may  not  the  happiest  be, 

And  riches  on  proverbial  wings  take  flight. 

But  I  will  wish  thee  joy  at  God's  right  hand, 

When  earthly  scenes  have  faded  from  thy  view,  — 

A  crown,  a  harp,  a  victor  palm,  for  thee, 

Where  dwell  the  loving  and  the  pure  and  true. 

May  all  thou  lovest  greet  thee  on  the  shore 

Where  God  each  earth-born  tear  shall  wipe  away ! 

Through  future  ages  may  thy  pathway  gleam 
In  all  the  splendor  of  eternal  day  ! 


ALBUM  STANZAS. 


TO    E.    R 

I  GIVE  thee  greeting  as  a  kindred  soul ; 
For  throbs  with  thine, 
In  the  pulsations  will  may  not  control, 
This  heart  of  mine. 

May  we  walk  onward,  side  by  side  in  love, 

Till  one  shall  go 
To  join  the  life-crowned,  joyous  host  above, 

And  leave  below 


78  POEMS    OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

A  waiting  spirit,  which  its  wings  may  plume 

For  upward  flight, 
To  the  fair  region  where  sweet  flowerets  bloom 

In  cloudless  light ! 

There  may  we  meet,  sweet  friend,  to  part  no  more, 

From  sorrow  free, 
With  all  God's  children  on  that  brighter  shore, 

Beyond  Time's  sea ! 


FAREWELL    TO   "  CARLETON." 


/^ARLETON,"   farewell!     I  clasp    thy   friendly 
\^J         hand 

This  side  the  sea  no  more  : 
Yet  with  a  smile  I  spoke  the  farewell  word, 

And  saw  thee  start  for  that  far-distant  shore  ; 
For  well  I  knew  that  'twould  be  joy  to  thee, 
To  tread  those  shores  beyond  the  heaving  sea. 

Farewell !  thine  early  hope  hath  blossomed  now : 
Its  fruit,  to  thee  and  thine, 

V 

Shall  sweeter  be  than  EschoFs  clusters  fair, 

As  ye  shall  roam  beside  the  sparkling  Rhine, 
Or  wander  in  old  England's  halls  of  pride, 
Or  climb,  awe-struck,  the  Alpine  mountain  side. 

Farewell  to  her  who  travels  at  thy  side, 

Thy  second  self,  so  dear : 
With  tender,  loving  thoughts  of  by-gone  hours, 

I  bid  ye  go,  and  wander  far  from  here. 


POEMS    OF  FRIENDSHIP.  79 

Your  work  is  one,  your  hearts  in  concord  beat : 
God  guide  you  both,  till  we  again  shall  meet. 

Farewell !  in  hope,  I  bid  you  both  to  go. 

What  though  you  ne'er  return 
To  this  dear  land  for  which  you've  labored  so, 

You  shall  be  blessed  by  all  that  you  shall  learn, 
And  scatter  seeds  of  truth  as  oft  before, 
And  bless  new  friends  upon  that  foreign  shore. 

We  who  remain  will  hail  each  earnest  word 

You  send  us  from  afar, 
Which  tells  how  God  is  working  in  those  lands, 

And  'mid  those  troubled  nations  where  ye  are, 
And  pray  the  while  that  3^011  may  both  be  spared 
To  hail  the  hour  when  Peace  shall  be  declared. 

Our  work  will  all  be  finished  by  and  by : 

We'll  cross  a  wider  sea. 
Then  shall  we  meet,  nor  speak  the  parting  word 

Through  all  the  ages  of  eternity  : 
Each  fond  misgiving  Hope's  glad  beams  dispel. 
We  can  afford  to  part  a  while  :  farewell ! 


THEY  SAY  THAT  I  LOVE  THEE. 


say  that  I  love  thee,  that  thou  art  to  me 
_1_      As  the  gods  to  the  heathen,  —  a  fair  deity. 
And  they  tell  but  the  truth  when  they  say  thou  art 

dear ; 
For,  as  blossoms  so  fair  in  the  morn  of  the  year, 


80  POEMS   OF  FRIENDSHIP. 

Do  I  oft  hail  thy  presence,  —  a  star  on  my  way  ; 
And  thy  smile  is  as  welcome  as  bright,  sunny  May. 

Oh,  yes,  I  do  love  thee !  and  welcome  to  me 

Comes  thy  sweet,  merry  laugh,  like  a  song  o'er  the 

sea. 

Thou  cheerest  my  pathway  like  music  ;  thy  unile 
Doth  oft  from  its  sorrows  my  spirit  beguile : 
Then  why  should  I  not  write  thy  name  on  my  heart, 
And  pray  that  our  spirits  no  earth-power  may  part  ? 

They  say  that  I  love  thee  :  oh  !  why  should  I  not 
Rejoice,  when  I  meet  in  Life's  desert  a  spot 
So  like  an  oasis  my  spirit  wonld  rest, 
And  in  each  friendly  shade  for  a  season  be  blest ; 
Since  shadows  oft  gather  in  earth's  narrow  sky, 
We  should  bask  in  all  sunshine  which  God  may  bring 
nigh. 

They  say  that  I  love  thee  :  they  think  that  I  bow 

At  the  shrine  of  the  earth-born  to  offer  my  vow. 

Yes,  truly,  but  only  through  loved  ones  to  pay 

My  homage  to  him  whom  we  honor  alway. 

In  Jesus  I  love  my  heart's  chosen  alone, 

And  the  Saviour  of  sinners  sits  on  my  heart's  throne. 

May  he  bless  to  our  spirits  the  love  that  we  share, 
And  fill  our  earth-lives  with  love,  labor,  and  prayer, 
Till  he  crowns  us  his  own  in  the-  mansions  above, 
The  home  of  the  souls  he  hath  here  sought  to  love, 
Where  our  prayers  are  for  praises  exchanged  ever 
more, 
And  all  labor  for  rest  on  the  heavenly  shore  ! 


POEMS   OF   FRIENDSHIP.  81 


MEMENTO  LINES  TO  A  FRIEND. 


SHALL  I  wish  thee  joy,  or  sorrow, 
In  thine  earthly  path,  my  friend  ? 
Joy  alone  would  but  enervate, 

Sorrow  break  where  it  should  bend. 

God  will  blend  them  as  his  wisdom 
Knoweth  how  thy  soul  to  keep : 

Earthly  changes  all  are  needful ; 
Heaven  is  nearest  those  who  weep. 

In  God's  hands  thy  future  leaving, 
I  for  thee  but  crave  this  boon, 

That,  where'er  thy  feet  may  wander, 
Thou  shalt  never  walk  alone. 

On  the  mountain-tops  of  gladness, 
Or  along  the  peaceful  plain, 

Or  when  treading  griefs  dark  valley, 
May  thy  Lord  with  thee  remain  ! 

Following  him  with  thoughtful  spirit, 
Thou  shalt  reach  the  home  above, 

Where  the  soul  can  bear  the  brightness, 
'Mid  the  joy  of  perfect  love. 


SONNETS. 


SONNETS. 


WILLIAM  H.  PRESCOTT. 


T~   IKE  some  bright  star  his  early  promise  shone  ; 
1  J       Then,  like  that  star  eclipsed,  went  out  a  while, 
Till  Wisdom  Infinite,  the  path  alone 

Which  he  should  tread  in  joy  marked  with  a  smile. 
Admiring  readers  see  that  Wisdom  now, 

And  thank  that  Power  that  wisely  thus  ordained, 
While  laurel  wreaths  they  twine  around  his  brow 

Who   pressed  undaunted  towards   the    prize    he 

gained. 
Then  with  the  plaintive  notes  of  mourning  hearts, 

One  loud,  triumphant  peal  must  mingle  too, 
That,  ere  such  genius  from  our  earth  departs, 

Its  glorious  trophies  lit  that  star  anew, 
And  "  Prescott  the  Historian  "  stands  beside 
The  Judge  and  Colonel  who  with  honor  died. 

85 


86  SOJVNETS. 


GEORGE   WASHINGTON. 


COME,  patriot  hearts !  and  bring  a  tribute  now 
To  him,  our  country's  loved  and  honored  sire  ; 
Come,  twine  another  wreath  around  his  brow, 

And  higher  lift  the  flame  upon  his  pyre. 
Oh !  let  our  nation  guard  his  sacred  dust, 

And  keep  unchanged  the  home  his  presence  blessed. 
America  alone  should  keep  that  trust, 

And  thus  be  true  to  honor's  high  behest. 
Like  some  lone  mountain  'mid  a  desert  drear, 

Mount  Vernon  towers  in  moral  grandeur  now  : 
Still  grand,  but  less  alone,  would  it  appear, 

Could  all  the  admiring  train  around  it  bow, 
And  claim  of  him  who'd  honor  e'en  a  throne, 
His  memory,  his  home,  his  dust,  their  own. 


TO  A  FRIEND  IN  SADNESS. 


DOTH  sadness  o'er  thy  spirit  sometimes  steal, 
And  darken  all  thy  hours  with  doubt  and  fear, 
As  when  the  sun,  while  planets  seem  to  wheel 

Across  his  disc,  is  darkened  to  us  here  ? 
Or  as  when  clouds  depart,  which  long  o'erhung 

The  earth  with  leaden  visage,  we  rejoice  ; 

So  does  thy  spirit,  in  the  song  thou'st  sung, 

Find  brightness  giving  gratitude  a  voice  ? 


SONNETS.  87 

Whate'er  to-day  thy  lot  may  seem  to  oe, 

With  thorns  or  flowerets  strewn,  beloved  friend, 

This  is  the  prayer  which  I  shall  breathe  for  thee,  — 
That  thou  be  faithful  till  this  life  shall  end ; 

['"uithful  to  Him  who  trod  the  path  of  woe, 

That  thou  shouldst  share  those  joys  the   ransomed 
know. 


SUGGESTED  BY  THE  CAPTURE  OF 
CHARLESTON. 


OGOD  of  battles  !     On  the  bended  knee, 
With  smiles  of  joy  that  may  not  be  repressed, 
Grateful  and  hopeful,  now  we  come  to  thee, 

We  whom  thy  goodness  hath  so  richly  blessed. 
Our  country's  "  crimson  stripes  and  fadeless  stars  " 

Above  once  "  startled  Sumter  "  proudly  wave  : 
Behold,  through  gates  which  Liberty  unbars, 

Come  peace  to  us,  and  joy  to  every  slave. 
Let  the  full  tide  of  our  rejoicings  flow, 

Forever  mingled  with  our  grateful  praise. 
Thou  reignest  on  earth ;  thy  power  the  nations  know. 

Peace  is  his  portion  who  thy  law  obeys  ; 
And  blessed  peace  must  crown  this  war-purged  laud, 
Now  truth  and  freedom  go  forth  hand  in  hand. 


88  SONNETS. 


THE  winter  winds  are  fiercely  howling  now 
In   wrath    around   my   cherished   "  sea-side 
bower," 
As  if  to  bid  my  spirit  meekly  bow, 

And  own  the  storm-king's  might  the  greater  power. 
Not  so  :  the  genial  sun  is  coming  fast, 

The  radiant  glory  of  the  summer  day. 
The  reign  of  terror  then  will  soon  be  past ; 

And  peace  returning  shall  call  forth  our  praise. 
Thus  ever  must  all  doubts  and  fears  depart 
Which  chill  our  spirits  as  a  wintry  clime, 
When   Love,  which   conquers  fear  and   death,  the 

heart 

Makes  glad  and  bright  like  hours  of  summer-time. 
Let  Love,  then,  reign  supreme  within  my  breast, 
Faith,  Hope,  and  Charity  shall  make  me  blest. 


TO  JOANNA  QUINER. 


A    ND  this  is  woman's  work !  this  noble  brow, 
_x^A_       These   "features    cast    in    Nature's    finest 

mould," 
Thy  skill  evoked  from  out  the  damp,  dull  clay, 

To  gladden  loving  hearts  as  they  behold. 
Thine  is  a  noble  mission,  thus  to  spare 

From  dark  oblivion  many  a  noble  head. 


SONXETti.  80 

• 

The  casket  whence  the  priceless  gem  is  gone 
May  still  be  dear  for  memories  yet  unfied ; 

And  thou  art  favored  thus  to  shadow  forth, 

Though  dimly  as  thou  thinkest,  woman's  power, 

Her  talent,  genius,  intellectual  might, 
And  holy  sympathy,  her  precious  dower. 

God  mould  thy  spirit  till  like  him  thou  art, 

And  stamp  his  sacred  image  on  thy  heart. 

I860. 


ON  SEEING  A  BUST  BY  MISS  QUINER. 


WITH  sudden  thought  I  paused  beside  the  bust ; 
And  Cowper's  touching  words  unbidden  rose, 
"Oh  that  those  lips  had  language  !  "  and  those  eyes 

Lit  with  the  fire  of  soul  might  once  unclose ! 
Yet  not  with  Uzziah  sacrilege  would  I 

Seek  aught  beyond  the  will  of  love  supreme, 
Nor  sigh,  Pygmalion-like,  that  life  be  given 

To  aught  of  human  mould,  though  fair  it  seem. 
Man  may  the  marble  shape,  the  plastic  clay 

Mould,  till  the  thinking  brain,  the  throbbing  heart, 
Seem  only  needed  to  perfect  the  whole  : 

The  breath  of  life  God  only  can  impart. 
Thanks  for  those  powers  which  link  us  to  the  skies, 
Though  ne'er  to  our  Creator's  height  we  rise. 

I860. 


90  SONNETS. 


FOR  THE  GRAVE  OF  MRS.  A.  A.  FOSTER. 


HTUNE'S  roses  still  in  beauty  round  me  blow  : 
f.J       Their  fragrance  fills  the  languid  summer  air  ; 
While  once  again  to  thy  dear  grave  I  go, 

And  lay  my  simple  but  love-offering  there. 
I  go  to  look  on  one  thou  lovedst  well,  — 

Upon  her  form,  robed  for  the  silent  grave. 
Her  soul  hath  sped  away  with  thee  to  dwell, 

Far  from  all  sin,  beyond  the  chilly  wave. 
I  gave  her  kindly  message  for  thine  ear  ; 

And  she  will  tell  thee,  precious  friend,  I  know, 
How  green  thy  memory  in  our  spirits  here, 

How  much  we  long  where  thou  art  gone,  to  go  ; 
And,  when  our  ties  to  earth  like  hers  are  riven, 

We'll  gladly  meet  you  both  in  yon  bright  heaven. 

READING,  MASS.,  June  19,  1865. 


LIBERTY   VERSUS  ROMANISM. 


[A  sonnet  respectfully  inscribed  to  Rev.  Arthur  B.  Fuller,  whose  recent 
excellent  sermons  with  the  above  title  suggested  its  composition .] 


DOTH  Freedom   dwell  where    Papal   rule    is 
known  ? 

"  Nay  !  "  History  answers  with  a  clarion  voice, 
Dark  Superstition  binds  those  votaries  down 
Who  blindly  of  her  guidance  make  sad  choice. 


SONNETS.  91 

The  Old  World  groans  to-day  beneath  the  weight 
Of  burdens  laid  on  her  by  Papal  power, 
Which  seemeth  e'er  to  pledge  perpetual  hate 
To  light  and  liberty,  man's  precious  dower. 
Say  !  shall  these  fetters  our  brave  freemen  bind, 
And  Popery's  banners  wave  o'er  Freedom's  soil  ? 
Not  so,  while  truth  and  valor  here  are  joined, 
And  true  hearts  for  the  holy  cause  may  toil. 
The  parasite  its  strong  support  would  kill, 
And  Rome  Avith  woe  our  native  land  would  fill. 


FLOWERS. 


[On  beholding  the  beautiful  flowers  sent  by  Mr.  Bela  Whiton  to  the  Uni- 
versalist  Church,  Hingham  Mass.,  on  the  day  of  my  ordination.] 


O  SWEET,  bright  flowers  !  I  welcome  you  to  be 
Upon  God's  altar  in  the  winter  hour, 
An  emblem  of  the  land  beyond  Life's  sea, 

Where  flowers  e'er  bloom,  and  storm-clouds  never 

lower. 
'Tis  well  that  here  your  fragrance  should  be  spent, 

Where  human  voices  utter  praise  to  God, 
To  teach  us  that  our  powers  all  are  lent, 

And  must  be  given  back  to  him,  our  Lord. 
O  beauteous  blossoms  !  to  our  hearts  je  speak 

Of  absent  loved  ones  on  the  shining  shore  ; 
And  thanks  are  due  the  hand  which  thus  can  wake 

The  chords  of  memory  till  our  spirits  soar, 
On  Faith's  bright  wings,  to  hail  the  precious  band 

Who  wait  our  coming  in  the  better  land. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 


THE  LIVE-OAK  TREE. 


[Suggested  by  receiving  from  Rev.  Athur  B.  Fuller,  Chaplain  Sixteenth 
Regiment  Massachusetts  Volunteers,  an  acorn  from  a  tree  near  Fortress 
Monroe,  under  which  the  band  sometimes  plays,  and  occasional  prayer- 
meetings  have  been  held.] 


FT"!  HERE'S  a  tree  in  that  sun-gladdened  land  of 
JL          the  South, 

Which  beareth  a  coronal  fair 
When  the  summer  robeth  the  trees  in  green, 

And  decks  them  with  blossoms  rare,  — 
A  tree  near  a  fortress  where  loyal  hearts  dwell, 

Where  waveth  the  flag  of  the  free. 
Oh,  what  would  I  give  for  one  heart-cheering  hour 

Spent  under  that  live-oak  tree  ! 

"There  the  bugle  sounded,  the  drum  was  beat, 

And  the  tunes  we  love  were  heard ; 
And  the  soldier's  heart  by  a  patriot  air 

Or  the  dear  home-tunes  was  stirred. 
The  branches  sway  in  the  winter  blast ; 

The  acorns  lie  on  the  ground ; 
But  listening  angels,  hovering  near, 

Have  carried  up  the  sound. 

95 


96  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

The  moonlight  falls  on  the  massive  trunk, 

Through  its  moss-clad  branches  now  ; 
But  the  hour  has  been  (be  it  oft  again  !), 

When  beneath  their  shade  could  bow 
The  praying  band,  while  the  chaplain's  voice 

In  the  accent  of  prayer  was  heard, 
And  the  soldier's  heart  by  the  thought  of  God 

And  his  heavenly  home  was  stirred. 

Ah  !  sweet  is  the  music  of  fife  and  drum 

To  the  lovers  of  martial  airs, 
But  sweeter  the  tones  of  the  holy  hymn, 

And  the  soldier's  fervent  prayers. 
Still  nearer  the  listening  angels  drew, 

When  the  incense  of  prayer  arose  ; 
And  the  Master  came,  as  he  promised  once, 

And  he  blessed  them  at  the  close. 

0  live-oak  temple  at  Fortress  Monroe ! 
In  thy  shade  I  may  never  stand  ; 

But  thy  fruit,  by  a  loj'al  hand  secured, 

I  hold  in  my  loyal  hand. 
And  I'll  plant  the  germ  with  a  fervent  prayer 

That  the  Union  may  endure 
When  thy  centuries  end,  O  live-oak  tree  ! 

And  thou  shelterest  the  loyal  no  more. 

And  I'll  pray  that  thine  acorn  prove  the  seed 

Of  a  tree  whose  root  may  be  firm, 
And  whose  spreading  branches  shall  shelter  none 

But  the  hearts  with  true  fire  warm. 

1  plant  it  with  hope  that  it  scarce  may  sprout 

Ere  this  sad,  sad  strife  be  o'er, 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  97 

And  that  as  it  grows,  so  light  may  dawn 
On  the  paths  so  dark  before, 

And  the  bondman  find  that  the  chains  are  broke, 

That  no  slave  breathes  our  air, 
And  that  in  the  anthems  of  the  free 

The  black  man's  voice  hath  share,  — 
Not  the  low,  deep  bass  of  a  gathering  storm, 

Or  the  heart-wrung  minor  tone, 
But  the  glad,  free  notes  of  a  happy  soul, 

To  whom  Freedom's  joys  are  known. 

It  will  come,  'twill  come,  that  glorious-  day, 

When  the  slave  will  not  be  found, 
With  a  crouching  fear  or  a  muttering  wrath, 

On  Freedom's  blood-stained  ground  ! 
Sing  on,  thou  poet,  of  "  furnace  fires  "  ! 

Still  hoping,  I  sing  with  thee  : 
Hallelujah  !  the  black  man  standeth  now, 

War  freed,  'neath  that  live-oak  tree. 

1861. 


SOLDIER,  REST! 


[A  tribute  laid  on  the  coffin  of  Jonathan  Cook  of  Reading,  Mass.,  who  was 
starved  in  a  rebel  prison,  so  that  he  died  just  after  being  exchanged.  His 
body  was  brought  to  his  native  place,  and  funeral  services  held  in  the 
Universalist  place  of  worship,  Rev.  E.  A.  Eaton  officiating.] 


SOLDIER,  rest !  thy  march  is  done ; 
Thou  hast  reached  the  camping  ground  : 
Battles  fought  and  victories  won, 

Thou  a  conqueror's  wreath  hast  found. 


98  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Death  has  claimed  thy  form  alone; 

And  thy  spirit  liveth  still, 
Working  in  diviner  ways 

After  God  the  Maker's  will. 

Thou  hast  battled  for  the  right, 
Bravely  fought  and  nobly  fell, 

Martyred  in  defence  of  truth, 
Loved  by  thee  so  long  and  well. 

Reverent  is  this  tribute  placed 
By  a  loyal,  stranger  hand, 

On  this  soldier's  casket,  one 
Called  to  die  for  native  land. 

Simple  though  its  words  and  few, 
'Tis  a  tribute  of  the  heart, 

Due  to  one  who  bravely  bore 
In  dear  Freedom's  strife  a  part. 

Soldier !  rest  in  hallowed  peace  ; 

Though  affection's  tear  may  fall, 
Patriot  hearts  may  yet  rejoice 

That  thou  heardst  thy  country's  call. 

Green  around  thy  head  shall  twine 
Evermore  the  unwithering  bays  ; 

And  thy  name,  with  freedom  joined, 
Shall  be  whispered  oft  with  praise. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  99 


THE  POET'S  PROPHECY  OF  AMERICA'S 
FUTURE. 


"  Not  thine  the  olive,  but  the  sword  to  bring; 

Not  peace,  but  war !     Yet  from  these  shores  shall  spring 
Peace  without  end;  from  these  with  blood  defiled, 
Spread  the  pure  spirit  of  thy  Master  mild; 
Here,  in  his  train,  shall  arts  and  arms  attend, — 
Arts  to  adorn,  and  arms  but  to  defend. 
Assembling  here,  all  nations  shall  be  blest; 
The  sad  be  comforted,  the  weary  rest; 
Untouched  shall  drop  the  the  fetters  of  the  slave; 
And  he  shall  rule  the  world  he  died  to  save." 

Rogers  s  Voyage  of  Columbus. 


FAR  through  the  ages  peered  the  poet's  eye, 
The  future  of  America  to  learn  : 
Then,  with  the  poet's  gift  of  prophecy, 

He  showed  the  glory  that  he  could  discern,  — 
That  where  our  striped  and  starry  symbol  shone, 
True  peace  and  freedom  evermore  were  known. 

We  thank  thee,  Rogers !  we  who  bear  to-day 
The  arms  our  nation's  honor  to  defend ; 

Our  country's  natal  star  fades  not  away, 

But  with  the  world's  day  dawn  for  aye  to  blend ; 

And  when  Eternity's  glad  sun  shall  rise, 

Still  shall  our  banner  gleam  along  the  skies. 

Onward !  still  on,  O  hosts  of  freedom,  press ! 

The  bending  heavens  await  the  final  shock. 
Heed  not  the  notes  of  terror  and  distress : 

Our  country  rests  upon  Salvation's  rock. 
Your  leader  owns  Immanuel  for  his  guide, 
And  victory  is  to  Christian  trust  allied. 


100  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Assembled  here,  all  nations  now  are  blest : 

They  lend  their  strength  our  threatened  land  to 
save  ; 

A  few  more  strokes,  then  shall  the  patriot  rest, 
And  then  "  shall  drop  the  fetters  from  the  slave  ;  " 

While  angels  sing  anew  their  Bethlehem  strain, 

And  men,  rejoicing,  join  the  glad  refrain. 


WAITING  FOR  THE  HOUR. 


[Suggested  by  W.  J.  Carleton's  picture,  entitled  "  Waiting  for  the  Hour," 
representing  slaves  waiting  for  the  time  to  come  when  the  President's 
Emancipation  Proclamation  should  be  in  force.] 


r  1 1HEY  wait !     Long,  weary  years  have  passed, 
JL      And  Liberty  seemed  far : 
Lo  !  bright  upon  their  future  path 

Now  beams  the  polar  star. 
God  from  on  high  his  ear  hath  bowed, 

His  the  Redeemer's  power  : 
With  reverent  joy  and  holy  hope, 

They're  "  waiting  for  the  hour." 

That  hour !  the  bell  of  Liberty 

May  ring  it  out  with  joy, 
When  midnight  stars  shall  sound  it  forth 

In  the  "  belfries  of  the  sky."  * 

*  Everett's  Oration  on  "  The  Uses  of  Astronomy." 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  101 

The  hour  of  Freedom  !  well  may  he 
Who  holds  Time's  measure  there 

Intently  on  the  hour-hand  gaze, 
Still  "  watching  unto  prayer." 

Long  had  his  voice  proclaimed  the  hope 

The  symbol-anchor  tells ;  * 
And  yet  he  listens,  half  afraid 

To  hear  the  chiming  bells 
Which  tell  that  Freedom's  hour  hath  dawned, 

The  long,  sad  night  is  o'er, 
The  chains  and  fetters,  woe  and  sin, 

Of  slavery  are  no  more. 

Shout,  friends  of  Liberty,  aloud  ! 

Shout  with  a  mighty  tone  ! 
Sing,  angels  in  the  upper  world, 

A  song  of  Freedom's  own  ! 
Now  stripes  and  bondage  are  exchanged 

For  peace  and  quiet  homes, 
Where  no  slave-driver's  voice  is  heard, 

And  never  blood-hound  comes. 

O  artist !  on  whose  canvas  glows 

This  picture  grand  and  high, 
Hast  thou  not  won  by  work  like  this 

The  "  Well  done"  of  the  sky  ? 
And  yet  no  pen  can  write  the  hopes, 

No  pencil  paint  the  joy 
In  all  its  fulness,  which  they  knew 

To  whom  this  hour  was  nigh. 

*  The  watch-key  was  in  form  of  an  anchor. 


102  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

They  wait !  yet  while  we  look,  the  hour 

Comes  with  its  blissful  freight : 
Fling  out  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  a  sign 

They  may  no  longer  wait. 
Shout  Lincoln's  name  with  blissful  tears, 

Pray  for  him  day  by  day, 
And,  through  all  coming  time,  look  back 

With  joy  to  "  Sixty-three." 


EMANCIPATION. 


LAND  of  the  Christian's  hope  ! 
Land  of  the  patriot's  pride ! 
Let  Freedom  like  a  river  flow,  — 
A  broad,  deep,  sparkling  tide. 
Break  each  accursed  chain, 
Let  the  enslaved  go  free, 
Or  never  hope  a  righteous  God 
Again  will  prosper  thee. 

Earth's  heathen  millions  wait 

For  light  to  beam  from  thee  : 
How  can  it  shine  through  that  dark  mist 

Of  cruel  slavery  ? 
Crush  the  rebellion  foul, 

And  with  it  crush  its  cause, 
The  deadliest  foe  in  all  our  land 

To  just  and  humane  laws. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  103 

By  martyred  Torrey's  blood, 

By  Lovejoy's  honored  name, 
Shake  off  the  shackles  of  disgrace, 

Wipe  out  the  nation's  shame : 
Let  not  our  heroes  fall 

In  this  great  strife  in  vain ; 
Nor  leave  it  for  our  children  dear 

To  fight  it  o'er  again. 

Proclaim  the  edict  now  ! 

Be  tardy  justice  done 
To  those  so  long  by  us  oppressed, 

And  then  the  vict'ry's  won. 
God's  smile  will  clear  our  sky, 

And  paint  the  promise-bow 
On  each  retreating  cloud,  to  be 

The  pledge  of  glory  new. 

Then  speak  the  magic  word  : 

Say  to  the  slave,  "  Be  free  !  " 
Let  Northern  bells  ring  in  the  year 

Of  Southern  jubilee  ! 
Shrink  not  in  coward  fear, 

Be  merciful  and  just, 
Or  look  to  see  the  Stars  and  Stripes 

Dishonored  in  the  dust. 

Nay,  lift  the  dear  old  flag : 

More  proudly  let  it  wave 
Above  a  nation  purified, 

A  people  true  and  brave  ; 


104  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

A  North  and  South  made  one, 
In  bonds  that  none  may  break, 

While  shouts  of  "  Peace  and  Liberty !  " 
Our  whole  broad  land  awake. 


THE  PATRIOT'S   PRAYER. 


WHEN  drawing  near  the  Mercy-seat,  with  close- 
shut  closet-door, 
And  closed  each  avenue  of  thought  where  pressed 

the  world  before, 
With  rev'rence  let  thy  spirit  bend,  as  bend  the  lofty 

trees, 
When  o'er  their  heads  sweeps  strong  and  free  the 

stormy  autumn  breeze ; 
Bow  lower  than  for  many  a  year,  O  man   of  spirit 

high ! 
And  fervently  with  trusting  heart  send  up  this  earnest 

cry, — 
"  O  God !  to  our  brave  Stars  and  Stripes  let  victory 

be  given  ; 
'  Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  be  done,  on  earth  as 

'tis  in  heaven  ! ' ' 

When  comes  the  holy  day  of  rest,  and  God's  dear 

children  meet 
Within  those  walls  where  Jesus  comes  his  followers 

oft  to  greet, 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  105 

While  songs  of  praise,  like  incense  sweet,  from  grate 
ful  hearts  ascend, 

And  human  eloquence  shall  oft  with  heavenly  wisdom 
blend, 

Then  let  the  patriot's  earnest  pra}Ter,  oft  in  his  closet 
breathed, 

Be  echoed,  and  the  promise  claimed  where  many  are 
agreed : 

"  O  God  !  to  our  brave  Stars  and  Stripes  let  victory 
be  given  ; 

*  Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  be  done,  on  earth  as 
'tis  in  heaven  ! ' ' 

"  Thy  kingdom  come  !  "  through  parted  veils  the  truth 

shall  then  be  seen, 
And,  as  when  Christ  on  Calvary  died,  the  earth  shall 

shake  again ; 
Then  thrones  shall  crumble,  empires  fall,  and  tyranny 

be  o'er, 
And  Freedom's 'clarion  voice  proclaim  Christ's  reign. 

from  shore  to  shore  ; 
Then  shall  each  soul  enslaved  be  free,  and  every  fetter 

faU, 
And  He  who  gave  the  victory  be  crowned  the  Lord 

of  all ! 
Well  may  we  pray,  "  As  one  step  forward,  to  us  be 

victory  given ; 
'  Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  be  done,  on  earth  as 

'tis  in  heaven  ! ' ' 

"  Thy  will  be  done  ! "  Oh  !  when,  indeed,  thy  law  is 

here  obeyed, 
Before  the  righteous  rulers  shall  the  evil  be  afraid ; 


106  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Then  fraud  and  falsehood,  demons  dread,  their  sable 

wings  shall  fold, 

And  not  a  Judas  sell  this  land  for  silver  or  for  gold  ; 
Then  'neath  his  vine  and  fig-tree  the  patriot  saint 

shall  dwell, 
And  praise  that  guiding  Providence  "  who  doeth  all 

things  well," 
And  sing  with  voice  melodious,  like  that  to  seraphs 

given, 
" '  Thy  kingdom  come,  Thy  will  be  done,  on  earth  as 

'tis  in  heaven ! '  " 


THE  LAWRENCE   MASSACRE. 


OH,  sight  of  horror  !  lo,  the  midnight  stars 
Grow   dim,  as   war's  smoke  slowly   upward 

goes,  — 

Not  smoke  of  warfare  waged  in  Honor's  sight, 
But  unprovoked  assault  on  unarmed  foes. 

The  loyal  friends  of  Freedom  calmly  rest 
One  moment  on  the  pillow  won  by  toil ; 

Then,  roused  by  shouts,  half-wakened,  meet  the  foe, 
Only  to  sleep  again  on  Kansas  soil, 

Sleep  the  long  sleep  that  knows  no  troubled  dream, 
Martyrs  for  Freedom !  long  to  be  revered, 

Whose  name  shall  shine  on  our  historic  page, 
To  whom  heart-monuments  shall  yet  be  reared. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  107 

Go,  look  upon  that  scene,  by  artist  hand 
Now  pencilled  on  the  glowing  canvas  there, 

Then  vow,  like  ancient  hero,  ne'er  to  faint 
Till  triumph  gilds  that  hour  of  black  despair. 

Till  martyr  blood  again  the  seed  shall  prove 
Of  Liberty  through  all  our  suffering  land, 

And  Peace  with  grateful  joy  again  is  hailed 
By  all  the  States,  a  free  and  loyal  band. 


WHERE   IS   HE? 


[A  mother,  whose  son  has  fallen  in  defence  of  our  beloved  country,  thus 

wrote  to  me:  "  The  lines  by ,  I  should  like  them  so  much.     Can  I 

obtain  them  through  you?  When  I  watched  his  baby  face  with  streaming 
tears,  painting  sad  pictures  in  the  far  off  yet  to  be,  I  little  thought  how  alle 
viating  such  precious  gifts,  in  actual  sorrow  and  suffering,  would  be.  I 
gnther  them  up  to  fill  the  vacancy.  Even  the  touching  letters  of  some  of 
his  comrades,  so  full  of  soul,  I  hug  to  my  heart.  Still,  you  know,  the 
mother,  in  a  moment  of  anguish,  will  ask  of  all  the  world,  '  Where  is  he?1" 
Her  words  have  suggested  the  following  stanzas :]  — 


THEY  say  that  his  body  is  laid  in  the  grave ; 
They  say  for  his  country  he  died ; 
But  the  mother-heart  in  its  loneliness  throbs, 

And  has  still  in  its  anguish  sighed, 
"  Oh  !  where  is  he  now,  —  my  generous  boy ! 

My  precious  one  !  where  is  he  ? 
Will  he  never  return,  in  the  battle  who  fell 
As  he  fought  'neath  the  flag  of  the  free  ? 


108  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Where  is  he  ?  I  tended  his  baby  form  ; 

I  watched  him  in  childhood's  glee ; 
I  cheered  his  young  manhood,  and  hoped  his  strength 

Would  be  prop  in  old  age  for  me. 
But  I  gave  him  up  when  his  country  called ; 

I  laid  him  on  Freedom's  shrine  : 
Oh  !  why  should  I  murmur  if  God,  who  asked 

For  the  offering,  accepted  mine  ? 

I  murmur  not,  though  the  far-off  West 

Is  the  grave  for  such  as  he, 
While  I  must  miss  him  fore  verm  ore 

From  my  home  by  the  sounding  sea : 
For  my  country  needs  in  this  peril-hour 

The  costliest  gifts,  I  know  ; 
Then  I'll  murmur  not,  but  I  still  must  weep. 

I'm  his  mother,  and  loved  him  so  ! 

I  am  cheered  by  the  shout  of  the  victor-host ; 

I  rejoice  in  the  triumph  of  Right ; 
And  I  look  on  the  flag  with  a  loving  eye 

Beneath  which  my  son  could  fight ; 
And  the  comforting  words  which  pitying  friends 

Are  speaking  so  oft  to  me,  — 
They  are  welcome,  — -  I'm  thankful ;  but,  midst  them 

all, 
I  whisper,  ^  Where  is  he  ?  " 

His  merry  laugh  and  his  graceful  form, 
His  words  full  of  kindness  and  love, 

Shall  I  know  them  no  more,  save  by  Memory's  power, 
Till  I  nipet  my  young  soldier  above  ? 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  109 

I  will  try  to  be  patient,  O  land  of  my  birth ! 

I'm  willing  to  suffer  for  thee  ; 
And  the  patriot's  fire  in  my  heart  still  burns, 

Though  I'm  asking  "  Where  is  he  ?  " 

O  God  of  the  mother  whose  holy  trust 

Is  placed  on  thy  promise  sure  ! 
Give  strength  to  the  torn  and  bleeding  hearts 

Counted  worthy  to  endure, 
And  answer  the  cry,  "  Oh !  where  is  he  ?  " 

With  the  whisper  to  each  sad  heart, 
"  Though  he  comes  no  more,  thou  shalt  go  to  him : 

Ye  shall  meet  no  more  to  part." 


THE   SOLDIER  AND   THE  TEACHER. 


[Suggested  by  the  funerals  of  Sergeant  Charles  F.  Ferguson  and  Miss 
Rebecca  F.  Prince.] 


OUR  martyred  dead ! 
They  speak  to  us  from  many  a  grave, 
Far  off  or  near,  —  they  who  would  save 
Our  country  in  her  hour  of  pain, 
And  find  in  loss  eternal  gain ; 
Whose  fresh  young  lives  were  laid  too  soon 
Upon  the  altar,  ere  Life's  noon 
Had  scarcely  come,  and  while  each  heart 
Throbbed  wildly  comfort  to  impart 
To  this  fair  land,  all  stricken  now, 
And  made  beneath  the  rod  to  bow. 


HO  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Our  God,  who  "  doeth  all  things  well," 
Hath  given  us  the  flag-decked  bier, 
The  muffled  drum,  the  falling  tear, 
And,  harsh  and  sharp,  the  funeral-bell, 
Instead  of  merry  shout  and  song, 
As  victor  armies  marched  along, 
And  broken  circles  were  made  whole, 

While  parted  friends  clasped  hands  again  : 
Ah  me  !  to  greet  their  patriot  dead 

How  many  fond  hearts  wait  in  vain ! 

The  patriot  host 
Go  not  alone  into  the  halls, 

The  "  silent  halls  of  death  :  " 
From  quiet  homes  and  peaceful  haunts 
Goes  up  the  parting  breath ; 
And  one  who  loved  her  Master  well, 
And  of  his  dying  love  would  tell 
To  pupils  dear,  and  sing  his  praise 
On  glad,  returning  sabbath  days, 
Hath  ceased  her  labors  here  below, 
And  soared  where  sister-seraphs  glow, 
And,  with  a  sweet  and  pure  renown, 
Hath  taken  Life's  immortal  crown. 
Young  eyes  were  dimmed  with  tears  for  her 

Who  taught  them  day  by  day, 
That  she  no  more  with  them,  on  earth, 

Would  tread  in  wisdom's  way  ; 
And  many  a  parent's  heart  grew  sad, 
As  children  wept  o'er  teacher  dead. 
For  her  the  white  robe  well  might  be 

The  garland,  and  the  cross 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  Ill 

Of  beauteous  emblem-blossoms  sweet, — 
Since  ours  alone  the  loss. 

Years  will  roll  on. 
The  soldier  in  his  honored  tomb 

Will  hear  no  noise  of  war  ; 
The  teacher  in  her  quiet  grave 

Will  know  no  schoolroom  jar ; 
And  on  the  hearts  which  loved  them  her 

Their  names  inscribed  shall  be, 
Till  every  heart  hath  tasted  death, 

And  death  no  more  shall  see. 

Look  up  and  on  ! 
The  light  that  shines  afar  comes  down 

From  heaven's  pearly  gate, 
And  none  who  knock  in  Jesus'  name 

Outside  shall  ever  wait. 
Behold  the  dawning  of  that  day, 

The  coming  of  that  hour, 
When  all  our  griefs  shall  pass  away, 

And  sin  shall  lose  its  power ! 
Far  up  the  heavenly  heights  I  see 

"  The  Lamb  for  sinners  slain." 
Fear  not,  O  mourning  heart !  for  thee 

The  dead  shall  live  again. 
Washed  in  the  fountain  of  thy  blood, 

O  Saviour !  all  shall  be 
Who  in  thy  might  each  foe  withstood, 

And  humbly  looked  to  thee. 
He  in  thy  realm  of  peace  shall  rest 

Who  in  thy  name  hath  fought, 
And  by  the  Master's  side  shall  dwell 

The  teacher  and  the  taught. 


112  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Farewell  to  both  ! 
Soldier  and  teacher,  rest ! 
Room  is  there  for  you  in  the  leaf-clad  earth, 
Room  on  the  Saviour's  breast ! 


THE  DEAD  SOLDIER. 


THEY  had  smoothed  his  limbs  for  the  last,  long 
sleep ; 

That  graceful  form  was  still ; 
And  the  clustering  curls  on  his  forehead  slept 
Like  flowers  which  the  dew-drops  fill. 

But  oh !  on  his  face  was  a  heavenly  smile, 

A  look  which  the  angels  wear, 
As  if  he  had  drank  from  the  cup  of  joy, 

And  his  heart  was  free  from  care. 

A  smile  that  told  of  an  angel  guard 

By  the  form  of  the  soldier  dead,  — 
Aye,  told  yet  more,  that  the  light  of  heaven 

Around  that  form  was  shed ; 

That  the  soul,  as  it  sped  to  the  realms  of  bliss, 

Went  forth  with  exultant  joy : 
Accept  the  omen,  O  mother-heart 

That  weeps  for  thy  soldier-boy  ! 

He  may  not  tread  in  the  paths  he  loved 

With  the  voice  and  smile  of  yore ; 
But  his  spirit  may  still  commune  with  thine 

As  he  looks  from  the  "  shining  shore." 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  113 

And  his  voice  to  thee,  like  his  parting  smile, 

Is  the  echo  of  hope  and  joy  ; 
Saying,  "  Faint  not  till  thy  work  is  done, 

Then  come  to  thy  darling  boy !  " 

So  gird  thee,  mother,  for  future  strife  ; 

Toil  on  in  the  path  assigned 
By  the  Infinite  Wisdom  that  looks  to  see 

Thy  will  to  his  resigned. 

And  the  hour  shall  come,  when,  the  dark  veil  rent, 

Thy  soul  shall  be  filled  with  joy, 
As  amid  the  crowned,  victorious  host, 

Thou  shalt  greet  thy  patriot  boy. 


JUBILEE  GUNS. 


[Written    in    Reading,   Mass.,    on    hearing   the    salute  ordered  by   Gov. 
Andrew  on  New- Year's  Day,  1866.] 


cannons  peal,  twelve  miles  away: 
JL      Rejoice,  O  Freedom's  sons  ! 
Old  Massachusetts  hails  to-day 
The  thunder  of  those  guns. 

Ring  out  the  bells  !     Ring  Liberty 

O'er  all  our  land  afar,  — 
The  fruit  of  weary  years  of  toil, 

The  guerdon  of  the  war  ! 


114  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

We  look,  through  blinding  tears  perchance, 

Upon  our  flag  so  fair  ; 
Yet  on  the  bended  knee  give  thanks 

That  still  it  waveth  there,  — 

That  still  it  waves,  the  symbol  high 

Of  freedom  to  the  world, 
Of  liberty  to  every  soul 

Where'er  it  is  unfurled. 

Then  let  the  joy-bells  loudly  ring, 
The  deep-mouthed  cannons  roar  : 

Our  nation  can  the  challenge  fling 
She  never  flung  before. 

Tremble,  O  earth  !  beneath  the  jar 

Of  Freedom's  guns  to-day ; 
Yet  shrink  not ;  for  the  sounds  of  war, 

Thank  God !  have  died  away. 

These  tell  of  broken  chains,  and  hearts 

With  joy  almost  oppressed, 
As  slavery  for  aye  departs, 

Xnd  fugitives  find  rest. 

Oh,  'tis  a  glorious  thing  to  live 

In  this  rejoicing  time,  — 
This  blessed  year  of  jubilee,  — 

'Tis  joyful  and  sublime  ! 

Lord,  let  thy  servants  now  depart : 

Their  eyes  salvation  see. 
This  rescued  land  is  Freedom's  own  ; 

Thine  shall  the  glory  be. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  115 


THE  MOTHERS  OF  THE  BRAVE. 


ON  many  a  breezy  height, 
In  many  a  bosky  dell, 
And  on  the  broad,  green  prairie  land, 

They  lie  who  bravely  fell, 
The  champions  of  Liberty, 
Fighting,  O  land  we  love  !  for  thee. 

In  many  a  far-off  home, 

Beside  the  lonely  hearth, 
Fond  mothers  sit,  and  think  of  those 

To  whom  they  once  gave  birth, 
Now  born  into  a  higher  life, 
Amid  the  din  of  Freedom's  strife. 

O  mothers  of  the  brave ! 

Whose  sons  have  won  renown, 
Weep  not  that  they  so  soon  exchanged 

Earth  for  a  hero's  crown  : 
Now  patriot  laurels,  nobly  won, 
Enwreath  the  brow  of  each  dear  son. 

And  ye  who  trust  in  Him 

Who  saveth  evermore, 
Hope  still  to  meet  those  hero  sons 

Upon  a  brighter  shore  : 
No  war  shall  scourge  that  better  land, 
No  sin  need  God's  corrective  hand. 


116  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

When  Peace  illumes  our  land, 
And  Freedom's  blessed  light 

Gleams  even  from  the  humblest  cot, 
Your  pathway  shall  be  bright, 

Who  once  your  household  jewels  gave, 

O  honored  mothers  of  the  brave  ! 


THE  DESTRUCTION  OF  THE  MERRIMAC. 


HA !  sound  the  clashing  cymbals !  blow  loud  a 
trumpet  blast ! 

Let  clarion  notes  re-echo  the  tidings  far  and  fast ! 
Lo !  fallen  on  the  field  of  strife  the  giant  that  defied 
Our  little  David  when  he  came  with  stones  from 

streamlet's  side. 
Smote  was  he  on  that  sabbath   morn  when  gallant 

Worden  fought, 
Now  stripped  of  weapons,  armor,  all,  his  head  in 

triumph  brought. 

As  Salem's  maidens  calmly  viewed  Goliath's  harm 
less  head, 

So  to  the  bowers  of  ladies  fair  the  Merrimac  is 
sped,  — 

The  blackened  ruins,  chip  by  chip,  are  borne  across 
the  land ; 

And  gentle  spirits  bless  the  Power  that  gave  it  to 
each  hand. 

For,  hearken !  have  you  heart  the  tale  ?  (it  is  un 
folded  far,) 

No  more  the  Merrimac  defies  our  little  Monitor. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  117 

Forsaken !  burned !  exploded !  then  was  strewn  the 

waters  dark 
With  remnants  of  the  shattered,  aye,  ruined  rebel 

barque  ; 
And  thus,  ere  long,  shall  perish  the  vile  confederate 

host,  — 

Melt  like  the  dew  of  morning,  and  be  forever  lost ; 
Each  man,  reluctantly  compelled  to  serve  the  rebel 

cause, 
When  Union  forces  break  his  chains,  trampling  the 

flag  of  bars, 
And  traitors  find  in  flight  or  fight  their  only,  last 

resource, 
Save  when  they  take  the  Merrimac's  own  suicidal 

course. 
Yes !  bid  triumphal  music  wake  the  echoes  far  and 

wide ; 
For  the   charred,   misshapen    fragments    upon    the 

James's  tide 
Alone  can  show  the  Merrimac,  that  terror  of   the 

hour, 
When  iron-clad  vessels   over  wood   displayed  their 

fearful  power. 
Revenged  are  ye  who  at  your  post,  the  Cumberland, 

went  down ; 
Revenged,  ye  of  the  Congress  whose  death  hath  won 

renown  ; 
Revenged !  for  in  her  suicide  she  hath  confessed  her 

wrong.* 
Like  justice  shall  be  meted  yet  to  all  the  rebel  throng. 

MAY  13,  1862. 

*  "  Suicide  is  confession."  —  DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


118  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 


"IT  IS  WELL." 


[When  the  Rev.  George  Trask  heard  of  the  death  of  his  son  Josiah  (the 
worthy  and  talented  editor  of  "  The  Kansas  State  Gazette  "),  who  was  among 
the  victims  of  the  Kansas  Massacre,  he  gently  responded,  "  It  is  well !  "  and 
went  immediately  to  his  own  room,  where  he  remained  for  pome  time, 
and  then  came  forth  with  the  serenity  of  a  Christian  who  truly  believes 
that  his  God  and  Father  "  doeth  all  things  well."] 


IT  is  well !  "  he  hath  died  for  the  country  he  loved, 
Though  he  died  not  'mid  war's  din  and  rattle : 
Not  alone  are  they  heroes  for  Freedom  who  fight, 

And  then  fall  on  the  red  field  of  battle : 
Unarmed  as  was  Christ,  with  the  soul  of  a  Tell, 
He  hath  fallen  for  Freedom !    My  country !     "'tis 
well!" 

"  It  is  well !  "  he  hath  lifted  the  standard  f  uU  oft 
Around  which  true  spirits  might  rally, 

And  sounded  the  tocsin  of  war  for  the  Right, 
In  Kansas  o'er  mountain  and  valley : 

By  voice  and  by  pen  he  rang  Liberty's  bell,  — 

He  hath  fallen  for  Freedom  !    Great  West !  "  It  is 
weU ! " 

"  It  is  well ! "  he  hath  gone  in  his  manhood's  fair 
prime, 

While  brightly  his  future  was  dawning  ; 
But  oh !  we  will  hope  that  an  angel  was  Death 

To  show  him  the  gleam  of  life's  morning  ! 
Then  hush  vain  regrets  in  each  bosom  that  swell, 
He  hath  faUen  for  Freedom  !  O  God  !  "  it  is  well !  " 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  119 

Though  darkened  the  home  of  his  loved  ones  to-day ; 

Though  tears  dim  their  eyes,  love  attesting ; 
And  heavy  the  stroke  upon  one  widowed  heart,  — 

On  God  are  they  all  sweetly  resting. 
With  the  ransomed  our  country's  brave  martyrs  shall 

dwell : 

lie   hath  fallen   for  Freedom !    Our   Father !    "  'tis 
well!" 


THE  YOUNG  SOLDIER. 


[A  tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  late  HERVEY  Dix  of  Maiden,  who  was 
killed  while  fighting  bravely  against  great  odds,  in  a  skirmish,  near  Kirks- 
ville,  Mo.,  August,  1861.] 


HE  sleeps  afar  from  friends  and  home, 
New  England's  son  so  brave  ! 
Kind  stranger  hands  his  form  prepared 
To  fill  an  honored  grave. 

He  lived  not  long  enough  to  gain 
Scott's  world-wide  martial  fame, 

But,  dying,  rose  to  Ellsworth's  side, 
And  won  a  hero's  name. 

Bright  shall  the  everlasting  bays 
Around  his  young  head  twine ; 

And  Liberty's  dear  lovers  make 
His  grave  the  patriot's  shrine. 


120  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

O  fond  maternal  heart !  that  bled, 
When  o'er  the  quivering  wire, 

With  sudden  shock,  the  tidings  came, 
That  he  had  "  gone  up  higher." 

Thou  mother  of  a  hero  son  ! 

Smile  through  thy  falling  tears, 
Till  Hope's  bright  rainbow  gilds  the  path 

Thou'lt  tread  in  coming  years. 

When  Peace  shall  bless  our  struggling  land, 

And  Freedom's  battle's  won, 
Thy  mourning  heart,  with  Christian  faith 

Will  throb,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

And  when  Life's  evening  shadows  steal 

Across  thy  dying  eye, 
Lo !  waiting  for  thy  greetings  fond 

Will  be  thy  hero  boy. 


LIBERTY   TO  ALL. 


HOTTER  grows  the  fiery  furnace, 
Higher  rise  the  flames, 
Faster  on  the  list  of  glory 

Throng  the  immortal  names : 
What  shall  be  the  end  at  last, 
When  the  war  is  over-past  ? 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  121 

Tears  like  summer  showers  are  falling, 

Crushing  summer  blooms ; 
Human  hearts  are  daily  bleeding 

In  a  thousand  homes : 
What  shall  be  the  glory  gained, 
What  the  glad  result  attained  ? 

Freedom  is  the  blessed  burden 

Of  each  weary  year  ; 
And  the  birth-throes  of  her  glory 

Are  the  groans  we  hear : 

God  will  give  his  people  rest 

When  with  freedom  all  are  blest ! 


A   PRAYER   FOR   ABRAHAM    LINCOLN. 


aOD  of  our  fathers !  Thou  whose  hand 
Thine  ancient  people  led, 
Look  down  on  our  beloved  land, 

And  bless  our  nation's  head. 
Oh  give  him  wisdom,  Lord,  to  guide 

The  hosts  of  freedom  now,  — 
To  meet  the  ills  which  may  betide 
With  calm,  unruffled  brow  ! 

We  pray  that  he  in  peace  may  rule 

O'er  this  broad,  favored  land, 
No  craven  heart !  no  party's  tool] 

But  with  a  righteous  hand  ; 


122  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

And  o'er  our  land,  from  east  to  west, 
From  north  to  south,  proclaim 

(Obeying  duty's  high  behest) 
The  Union's  honored  name. 

Sustain  him  by  thy  might,  O  God ! 

In  every  trying  scene, 
In  judgment  hall,  on  fields  of  blood, 

Or  in  his  home  serene. 
Oh  nerve  his  arm  to  strike  each  blow 

At  treason  and  at  wrong, 
And  bid  him  triumph  o'er  each  foe, 

And  sing  the  victor's  song  ! 

God  of  our  fathers  !  bless  this  man, 

The  people's  only  choice, 
And  guide  him  with  thine  own  right  hand, 

And  by  thy  Spirit's  voice. 
And  when  on  History's  page  his  name 

In  future  years  is  seen, 
May  unborn  millions  guard  his  fame, 

And  bless  thee  for  his  reign ! 

Hear  thou  our  prayer,  and  in  thy  way, 

And  in  thine  own  best  time, 
Deliver  us  from  Slavery's  sway, 

And  ring  out  Freedom's  chime. 
Bless  him  now  at  our  nation's  helm, 

O  Lord  !  we  pray  again  ; 
And  let  no  waves  his  bark  o'erwhelin, 

For  Jesus'  sake  —  Amen. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  123 


THE  WHITE  HYACINTH  FROM  HAMPTON.* 


~1T)  EAUTY  for  ashes  !  "  when  the  patriot  true 
_LD     Trod  streets  deserted  by  their  wonted  feet, 
And  gazed  upon  the  blackened  ruins  there,  — 

The  work  of  rebels  ere  their  swift  retreat, 
Amid  the  ashes  of  that  town  so  doomed, 

He  saw  rare  beauty  from  the  Father's  hand, 
As  the  pale  Hyacinth  looked  up  and  smiled, 

Like  patient  sufferer  in  a  down-trod  land. 

"  Beauty  for  ashes  !  "  —  blooming  'mid  the  wreck 

Of  cherished  hearth-stones  and  beloved  haunts, 
Type  of  the  glorious  blossom  yet  to  grow 

And  flourish  here,  in  spite  of  traitor  vaunts. 
Slavery  shall  die,  and  Liberty  survive, 

As  God  shall  live  while  earthly  thrones  decay. 
Praise  God,  my  soul !  the  Builder  still  hath  power 

To  raise  the  structure  vandals  low  would  lay. 

"  Beauty  for  ashes  !  "  Type  of  childhood's  games, 

Thou  hyacinth  from  Hampton's  ash-strewn  streets, 
Type  also  of  the  worse  than  childish  course 

Pursued  by  those  who  burn,  as  they  retreat, 
The  homes  of  true  hearts  and  the  haunts  of  those 

Who  loved  the  flag  which  tells  of  liberty. 
Oh,  worse  than  folly !  for  a  Judas-doom 

Awaits  the  rebel  foemen  of  the  free. 

*  Suggested  by  receiving  a  flower  gathered  by  Rev.  Arthur  B.  Fuller, 
Chaplai  i  Sixteenth  Massachusetts  Volunteers,  from  amid  the  ruins  and  deso 
lation  of  Hampton,  after  the  rebels  had  fled,  leaving  the  town  in  ashes. 


124  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

"  Beauty  for  ashes  !  "  let  the  paeans  sound  ! 

The  ruined  towns  along  the  path  of  war, 
The  desolation  of  Rebellion's  land, 

Tell  to  the  lookers-on  from  homes  afar, 
That  suffring  follows  sin  ;  and,  as  the  flower 

Looked  up  and  smiled  amid  the  whelming  gloom, 
So  looks  the  patriot,  with  faith  in  Right, 

Peace  to  behold  where  Freedom's  hosts  may  come 

"  Beauty  for  ashes  !  "  as  the  chains  shall  fall 

From  long-crushed  millions  in  our  guilty  land, 
So  victory  cometh  to  our  arms  again, 

And  peace,  affrighted  dove,  will  soon  descend  ; 
Then  with  perennial  loveliness  shall  bloom 

The  flower  of  liberty,  whose  fragrance  sweet, 
As  the  magnolia  of  the  sunny  South, 

Or  Northern  violet,  all  mankind  shall  greet. 

1862. 


THE  BURIED  VOLUNTEER. 


nVTOT  where  his  fathers  rest,  beside  the  sea, 
JJN       But  far  away  upon  Potomac's  shore, 
Or  in  the  distant  West,  his  grave  may  be, 

Who  comes  to  his  New-England  home  no  more. 

Fond  hearts  are  aching  in  their  silent  grief, 
Within  the  cot  which  love  a  palace  made  ; 

While  patriot  pride  and  Christian  hope  relief 
Offers  to  those  who  mourn  their  cherished  dead. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  125 

Comfort  will  come,  but  only,  Lord,  from  thee. 

In  thee,  O  Christ !  alone  the  heart  is  glad, 
Whose  earthly  hopes  like  shadows  seem  to  flee, 

Whose  loss  uncounted  makes  each  moment  sad. 

When  to  the  din  of  battle  he,  the  brave, 
Rushed  like  a  hero,  at  his  country's  call, 

He  thought  to  win  a  garland  or  the  grave, 
To  live  a  conqueror,  or  a  martyr  fall. 

Now  angels  chant  their  poeans  o'er  his  head  ; 

The  land  he  loved,  the  land  for  which  he  died, 
Counts  him  amid  her  dear  and  honored  dead, 

And  writes   his  name  on  History's  page  with 
pride. 

O  buried  volunteer  !  thy  praise  shall  sound 
Sweet  in  thy  children's  ears  in  days  to  be  ; 

And,  when  blest  freedom  circles  earth  around, 
God,  with  truth's  champions,  will  remember  thee. 

APRIL  4,  1862. 


A  PRAYER  FOR  THE  UNION. 


"  Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  forever,  one  and  inseparable." 

DANIEL  WEBSTER. 


IN  this  dark  hour  of  national  dismay, 
O  God  of  liberty,  thy  power  display ! 
Thine  hand  in  safety  led  thine  ancient  band, 
Through  paths  of  danger,  to  their  promised  land. 


126  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Thine  arm  defended  those  who  bravely  bore 
The  rights  of  freemen  to  this  western  shore, 
Who  dared  the  whelming  wave  and  tempest's  shock, 
To  plant  a  freeman's  foot  on  Plymouth  Rock  ; 
And  when  oppression  from  Old  England  came, 
And  brightly  blazed  anew  the  holy  flame 
Of  liberty,  each  noble  heart  the  shrine, 
Thou  ledst  them  on  to  victory,  Power  Divine  ! 
God  guided  pens  that  wrote  the  nation's  will ; 
God  led  the  hosts  who  fought  on  Bunker's  Hill : 
So,  Lord,  now  treason  in  our  land  is  rife, 
Appear  for  our  deliverance,  end  the  strife, 
And  let  the  "  ides  of  March,"  in  sixty-one, 
See  Lincoln  prove  a  second  Washington, 
Through  thee  our  nation  saving  from  a  fall, 
The  wild  waves  quelling  ere  they  whelm  us  all, 
Till  over  our  broad  land,  from  shore  to  shore, 
Blend  Liberty  and  Union  evermore. 


A  FLOWER  FROM  A  REBEL'S  GRAVE. 


[Suggested  by  a  flower  gathered  by  Rev.  Arthur  B.  Fuller,  and  given  to 
the  writer  by  the  lamented  chaplain,  May  16,  1862.] 


~T)  RIGHT  floweret  from  a  lowly  spot 
_D     Where  rests  a  son  of  earth, 
Thou  speakest  trumpet-toned  to  me 

Of  thy  far  place  of  birth, 
And  of  my  enemy  who  rests 
Where  blossoms  smile  o'er  manly  breasts. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  127 

That  land  !  by  slavery  accursed, 

Now  Freedom's  blood-stained  ground, 

Henceforth  within  its  borders  shall 
The  free  alone  be  found. 

0  God  of  battles  !  thanks  to  thee 
Who  victory  gave  to  Liberty. 

That  grave !     My  enemy  lies  there  ; 

And  thus  shall  yet  lie  low 
The  hydra-headed  treason  which 

Made  him  my  country's  foe  : 
Thus  may  each  rebel  soldier  lie, 
If  only  thus  may  treason  die. 

My  enemy  !  alas,  that  thou 

Should'st  die  in  such  a  cause  ! 
Rebelling  'gainst  the  truth,  the  right, 

In  government  and  laws. 

1  will  not  say  thou  wast  not  brave, 
But  thine  is  not  an  honored  grave. 

My  heart  is  sad  for  those  who  weep 

Within  thy  Southern  home, 
Since  thou  to  greet  them  canst  no  more 

With  rapid  footsteps  come  : 
I  pity  every  loving  heart 
Which  feels  the  sting  of  sorrow's  dart. 

Yet,  blossom  from  a  rebel's  grave  ! 

With  golden  hue  so  fair, 
I  would  that  he  had  nobler  lived 

Who  silent  sleepeth  there. 
So  lived  that  he  in  death  could  claim 
A  loyal  hero's  honored  name. 


128  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

No  laurel  wreath  I'd  twine  for  him 

Whose  fratricidal  hand 
Was  raised  to  scatter  blight  and  death 

Far  o'er  our  favored  land. 
Thank  God  !  his  power  for  ill  is  o'er ; 
So  perish  traitors  evermore. 


THE  SIEGE  OF  CHARLESTON. 


[Suggested  by  a  scene  in  Perham's  "  Mirror  of  the  Rebellion."] 


DOOMED  city  !    Treason'-s  nest  should  be   de 
stroyed  ! 

Thou  dost  thy  doom  deserve. 
On,  in  the  name  of  Liberty  and  God, 

Ye  who  would  still  preserve 

The  glorious  flag  with  stripes  all  whole  and  bright, 
Each  star  reflecting  Liberty's  own  light. 

Slowly  but  surely  are  thy  stones  removed ; 

Thy  pride  at  last  must  fall : 
How  with  foundation  gone  can  longer  stand 

Rebellion's  tottering  wall  ? 
Charleston  !  Palnrvra's  ruins  symbolized 
Thy  fate,  O  ingrate  !  sadly  now  unwise. 

The  slumbering  form  of  Calhoun  cannot  save 

Thine  honor  from  the  dust : 
Like  thee  must  fall  at  last,  in  dread  dismay, 

All  who  have  placed  their  trust 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  129 

Upon  the  quicksands  of  Rebellion's  cause, 
And  spurn  alike  our  liberties  and  laws. 

Brave  band  of  heroes  Sumter  gathering  round, 

Be  fearless  and  press  on ! 
Soon  must  the  day  of  glad  success  to  you 

In  blissful  radiance  dawn. 
Our  flag  must  wave  in  every  State  again, 
And  Peace  and  Freedom  o'er  us  gently  reign. 


THE  UNION  ARMY  NEVER  SURRENDERS. 


[One  who  fell  in  defence  of  our  country  in  the  early  days  of  the  rebel 
lion  said  when  his  little  band  were  called  upon  to  surrender  to  five  times 
the  same  number  of  rebels,  that  those  belonging  to  his  regiment  never  sur 
rendered.  His  brave  and  memorable  words  echo  the  sentiment  of  the 
Union  army,  and  have  suggested  the  following  lines :  — ] 


URRENDER  ?    Nay  !  though  thick  around 

Death-dealing  shot  may  fly, 
While  clouds  of  sulphurous  smoke  obscure 

The  calm  o'er-arching  sky. 
Loud  let  our  cannon  thunder  forth 

Defiance  to  the  foe, 
And  with  the  gleaming  bayonet 

Our  soldiers  onward  go  ! 


What  though  our  serried  ranks  are  thinned, 

Or  mowed  like  summer  grass, 
And  on  they  press,  outnumbering  us, 

A  huge,  o'erwhelining  mass  ? 


130  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

Yet  we  will  stand  the  sudden  shock, 

Resisting  till  in  vain, 
And  only  slowly  backward  move, 

To  "  bide  our  time  "  again. 

From  brave  hearts  on  Potomac's  shore, 

Or  in  the  distant  West, 
Or  'mid  the  hills  of  Tennessee, 

Or  where  the  surging  crest 
Of  many  a  wave  sweeps  noble  barks 

That  bear  our  flag  on  high, 
Comes,  ever  and  anon,  the  shout, 

"  We  conquer  or  we  die  !  " 

Surrender !     Give  our  broad,  free  lands 

To  dark  Rebellion's  sway  ? 
Hark  !  every  breeze  from  out  the  North 

Bears  back  the  answer,  "  Nay  !  " 
And  gentle  woman  stronger  feels, 

And  children  happier  grow, 
As,  leaning  on  a  Mighty  Arm, 

Our  Union  answers  "  No  !  " 

Then  fill  the  broken  ranks  again, 

And  hasten  to  the  strife  ; 
Aye  !  in  the  holiest  war  e'er  waged, 

Press  on  to  peril  life. 
Our  starry  banner  yet  shall  float 

Upon  the  ambient  air, 
While  deep-mouthed  guns  our  cause  proclaim 

Triumphant  everywhere. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  131 


ALL  QUIET  ALONG  THE  POTOMAC." 


[Suggested  by  a  photograph  with  that  title.] 


ALL  quiet  along  the  river  now, 
And  winter  reigneth  there. 
The  ground  is  carpeted  with  snow, 

And  chill  the  evening  air. 
Above  the  snow-clad  earth  arise 

The  stones  which  mark  the  spots 
Where  rest  the  forms  of  those  we  prize, 
Our  martyred  patriots. 

On  yonder  highland  stands  to-night 

The  sentinel  alone, 
His  musket  gleaming  in  the  light 

Of  the  pale  winter  moon. 
How  oft  to  him  at  midnight  hour, 

Above  the  noble  dead, 
Doth  Memory  come  with  magic  power 

To  speak  of  those  who  bled,  — 

Who  fought  in  Freedom's  sacred  cause, 

Beneath  our  banner  bright,  — 
The  symbol  each  true  heart  adores, — 

The  emblem  of  the  right,  — 
And  fell  before  the  rebel  host, 

But  won  a  pure  renown, 
Whose  lustre  never  shall  be  lost, 

A  patriot  martyr's  crown  ! 


132  POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM. 

"  All  quiet  upon  Potomac's  shore  !  " 

Soft  may  the  river  glide  ! 
Life,  with  its  conflicts,  now  is  o'er 

For  heroes  by  its  side. 
But  far  on  high,  where  never  comes 

The  sound  of  ruthless  war, 
Those  patriots  found  the  saint's  sweet  home, 

And  meet  with  foes  no  more. 

Each  wild  alarm,  each  whistling  ball, 

Each  shrieking  shell,  is  gone  : 
Henceforth  their  anthems  rise  and  fall 

Where  gleams  celestial  morn. 
And  while  upon  the  lonely  shore 

Their  honored  dust  may  rest, 
Each  Christian  patriot  evermore 

With  victory  is  blest. 


FREEDOM   IN   POLAND. 


HVTOW,  God  be  praised !  the  fetters  fast  are  fall- 
JJN      ing, 

The  voice  of  Freedom  sounds  in  lands  afar : 
Above  the  clouds  of  war,  my  soul  appalling, 

I  see  the  shining  of  the  Bethlehem  star. 

Poland  has  freedom  !  God  alone  hath  done  it : 
The  hearts  of  kings  are  in  his  hand  alone  ; 

No  strife  of  arms,  no  pleading  voice,  hath  won  it : 
Take  thou  the  praise,  O  Lord !  it  is  thine  own. 


POEMS  OF  PATRIOTISM.  133 

The  Sobieskies  smile  from  heights  of  glory ; 

Brave  Kosciusko  shouts  with  holy  joy. 
I  see  them  cast  their  crowns,  O  Lord !  before  thee, 

Amid  the  host  of  Freedom's  sons  on  high. 

Long  may  the  Polish  peasant,  freedom  sharing, 
Clasp  hands  with  us  across  the  mighty  sea ; 

Love  the  good  Czar,  in  God's  own  time  appearing 
To  do  his  will,  but  give  the  praise  to  Thee  ! 

For  thou  alone  hast  freed  them,  mighty  Leader  ! 

Stretch  thou  thine  arm  above  our  crimson  sea ! 
Let  Poland  see  that  the  same  God  who  freed  her 

Hath  given  us  peace,  and  made  our  bondmen  free  ! 


MEMORIAL  POEMS. 


MEMORIAL   POEMS. 


THE   RIGHTEOUS   SHALL   BE   HAD   IN 
EVERLASTING   REMEMBRANCE. 


TO    MRS.    A.    A.    F. 


ONCE  more  I  lay  Love's  offering  on  thy  grave, 
Dear  friend  and  true  ! 

With  longing  heart  thine  unforgotten  smile 
Once  more  to  view. 

How  ached  our  torn  hearts  as  we  laid  thee  down 

Upon  that  autumn  day, 
When  all  the  brightness  of  that  hour  was  dimmed, 

For  thou  hadst  passed  away  I 

All  through  the  weary  months  that  followed  on, 

Still  have  we  mourned 
Our  loss  in  thy  departure,  friend  beloved ! 

Now  glory-crowned. 

But  oft  sweet  whispers  to  our  spirits  come 

From  that  bright  shore 
Where  thou  art  resting,  and  we  hope  anew 

To  greet  once  more. 

137 


138  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

Sweet  friend  !  we'll  cherish  in  our  heart  of  hearts 

Thy  virtues  rare, 
And  pray  that  in  thy  meek,  quiet,  gentle  ways, 

We  all  may  share. 

And  that  the  mantle  of  thy  spirit  rest 

On  those  who  tread, 
Humbly  and  rev'rently,  where  thou  didst  walk 

In  j^ears  now  fled. 

Rest,  precious  dust !  in  consecrated  ground. 

The  soul  hath  soared 
We  know,  and  through  those  weary,  vanished  months 

Hath  God  adored, 

Where  angels  bow  with  harps  to  love  attuned, 

And  souls  like  thine 
Grow  beauteous  in  Love's  light,  yet  more  and  more 

And  more  divine. 

But  the  dear  lips  our  love  once  gladly  pressed 

Lie  buried  here  ; 
The  hand  that  clasped  our  own  in  friendship's  grasp, 

The  soft,  dark  hair. 

And  o'er  this  grave  we  must  in  sadness  bend, 

Till  our  turn  come 
To  reach  that  land  where  tombstones  never  rise,  — 

Thy  new,  bright  home. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  139 

FIRST   TIME.  — LAST   TIME.  — NEXT   TIME. 


INSCRIBED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.    A.  A.  F. 


stars  were  shining  in  the  evening  sky, 
JL        As  I,  a  stranger,  entered  at  her  door. 
She  welcomed  me  with  smile  so  full  of  peace 

I  trusted  her  sweet  spirit  from  that  hour. 
My  hand  I  gave  her  in  unfaltering  faith 
That  she  would  be  my  friend  in  life  and  death. 

I  scarce  knew  why  ;  but  ever  from  that  hour, 
When  first  I  saw  her  placid  face,  I  grew 

To  love  her  smile,  her  voice,  her  pleasant  ways, 
Until  she  was  a  friend  no  longer  new  : 

And,  clinging  to  her  like  a  weary  child, 

I  sighed  to  be  like  her,  the  pure  and  mild. 

Last  time  I  looked  upon  that  face  so  dear, 
'Twas  marble-like  in  coldness,  pale  and  still : 

No  answering  look  the  closed  eyes  gave  to  cheer, 
There  was  no  smile  my  loving  heart  to  thrill. 

Within  the  coffin,  flower-decked,  still  she  lay,  — 

The  form,  I  mean,  —  the  soul  had  passed  away. 

Which  was  the  last  time  f     When  her  eyes  met  mine 
That  sabbath  morn,  and  smiled  her  love  once  more, 

Ere  the  death-angel,  sent  by  love  divine, 
Bore  her  freed  spirit  to  the  shining  shore  ; 

Or  when  I  stood  her  open  grave  beside, 

And  smoothed  the  dark  locks  of  my  pastor's  bride  ? 


140  MEMORIAL   POKMS. 

Next  time,  —  thank  God  !  there  is  a  glad  next  time, 
When  I  shall  look  upon  my  friend  again,  — 

Shall  see  her  radiant  'mid  the  white-robed  throng, 
And  hear  her  voice  in  some  sublime  refrain. 

She  ever  loved  to  sing  the  songs  of  Zion : 

She  sings  them  now  where  reigneth  Judah's  Lion. 

Next  time,  and  not  far  off  that  blessed  hour, 
My  hand  shall  gently  touch  her  noble  brow : 

She'll  greet  me  with  her  own  sweet  voice  and  smile. 
How  thrills  my  heart  with  that  glad  prospect  now  ! 

Pass  on,  ye  seasons  !  bring  the  summer  hour, 

When  I  shall  greet  her  in  some  heavenly  bower. 


ONLY  OUT  OF  SIGHT. 


TO  MRS.  ABBY  A.  FOSTER. 


DEAR  friend,  thou'rt  only  out  of  sight, 
Sweet  sister  of  my  soul ! 
One  little  stream  alone  doth  now 

Between  our  spirits  roll ; 
One  step,  —  the  last,  —  and  I  shall  greet 

Thy  cherished  smile  again  ; 
One  pang,  —  the  last,  —  and  I  shall  know 
Again  no  parting  pain. 

Unfading  as  these  evergreens 

Thy  memory  shall  be  ; 
Unwithering  as  these  amaranths 

Our  loving  thoughts  of  thee. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  141 

Sweet  sister!  cherished  friend  !  with  tears 

I  place  them  here  to-day : 
Thy  grave  is  hallowed  ground  to  me, 

Where  I  may  weep  and  pray. 

Oft,  in  my  distant  home,  I  sit, 

And  live  that  sabbath  o'er, 
When  by  thy  side  I  stood,  till  thou 

Crossed  to  the  shining  shore. 
Arid  evermore  both  "  bright  and  fair" 

As  thine  my  hope  shall  be  ; 
For  in  thy  footsteps  will  I  tread, 

Safe  while  I  follow  thee. 

Christ  was  tny  light,  tny  guide,  thy  hope  ; 

And  thou  art  with  him  now, 
The  palm  of  victory  in  thine  hand, 

The  crown  upon  thy  brow. 
Yet  often  art  thou  still  with  us  ; 

Thy  spirit  o'er  us  bends  ; 
And  sweetly  dost  thou  minister 

To  thine  earth-fettered  friends. 

I  hear  thy  voice  at  midnight  hour, 

I  hear  it  oft  at  noon  : 
Thou  smilest  with  the  morning  star, 

And  with  the  calm,  bright  moon. 
I  never  can  forget  thee  —  no  ! 

To  thee  henceforth  is  given 
To  blend  with  all  my  thoughts  of  death, 

And  all  my  hopes  of  heaven. 


142  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

Soon  shall  we  clasp  the  friendly  hand 

In  those  unfading  bowers, 
Where,  as  on  earth,  thou'lt  pluck  for  me 

Some  earliest,  sweetest  flowers ; 
And  I  shall  find  our  love's  strong  chain 

By  death  was  unclasped  never, 
Where  all  we  love  shall  live  again, 

And  part  no  more  forever. 

Nov.  2, 1864. 


IN  MEMORY  OF  MRS.  E.  A.  TENNEY. 


WE    sit,   with   mourning    hearts,    beneath    the 
shadow 

Which  darkens  now  our  home, 
And  look  with  longing  eyes  to  that  bright  region 
Where  shadows  never  come. 

We  think  of  her,  now  from  our  side  departed, 

In  Christian  hope  and  trust : 
Gentle  and  lovely,  pure  and  earnest-hearted, 

She  dwells  among  the  just. 

Through   summer's   long,   bright   days  she   lingered 
with  us ; 

Then,  with  the  falling  leaf, 
She  faded  from  our  sight,  and  heaven's  garner 

Received  a  ripened  sheaf. 

Love  watched  unceasingly  beside  her  pillow  ; 

And  prayer  went  up  on  high, 
That  she  might  ride  triumphant  o'er  death's  billow, 

When  beckoned  to  the  sky. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  143 

Wo  look  to  Thee,  who  hast  in  wisdom  taken 

That  which  thy  love  hath  given : 
Our  faith  in  thy  clear  love  shall  be  unshaken, 

Till  we  meet  her  in  heaven. 

Bless  Thou  the  husband  from  his  chosen  severed ; 

Guide  Thou  their  darling's  feet ; 
And  in  the  Christian's  long  and  blest  hereafter 

Give  them  again  to  meet. 

Oh !    soothe  each  heart  by  this  bereavement  strick 
en,  — 

The  brothers,  sisters,  here, 
And  that  dear  brother  for  our  country  toiling, 

A  patriot  young  and  dear. 

Wo  leave  our  prayer  with  Thee,  O  gentle  Saviour  ! 

Who  once  wept  by  a  grave  : 
Come  as  the  Comforter  to  all  our  spirits, 

And  point  us  o'er  the  wave  ! 


TO    A.  A.  F. 


r  I  ^HE  summer  skies  above  me  bend ; 
JL      Round  me  June's  roses  blow  : 
Where  art  thou  wandering,  O  my  friend  ? 
What  paths  do  thy  feet  know  ? 


144  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

I  may  not  tell :  to  mortal  eye 

The  vision  is  not  given. 
Thy  footsteps  sound  above  the  sky, 

Thy  pathways  are  in  heaven. 

While  other  eyes,  with  tender  love, 

Are  gazing  into  mine, 
What  eyes  among  the  blest  above 

Are  looking  into  thine  ? 
While  other  voices  fill  my  ear, 

Unknown,  dear  friend,  to  thee, 
What  music  utterance  dost  thou  hear 

"Whose  echoes  reach  .not  me  ? 

I  hear  no  answer  from  on  high  ; 

Thy  voice  I  hear  no  more. 
But  soon  myself,  above  the  sky 

And  on  the  shining  shore, 
I  shall  discover  all  I  ask ; 

I  need  no  answer  here  : 
And  thine  shall  be  the  joyful  task 

To  teach  me,  sister  dear. 

And  I  shall  see  the  friends  that  now 

In  thy  dear  presence  throng  : 
With  heaven's  laurel  round  my  brow, 

I'll  join  thy  grateful  song. 
And,  till  that  glorious  hour  shall  come, 

In  duty's  path  I'll  tread,  — 
The  path  that  to  thy  heavenly  home, 

To  thee,  my  friend,  shall  lead. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

The  summer  hours  will  swiftly  glide 

To  meet  the  autumnal  sea ; 
And  I  upon  their  gentle  tide 

Am  drawing  nearer  thee,  — 
Yes,  nearer  to  thy  side,  sweet  friend, 

Where  I  can  clasp  thy  hand, 
And  love's  eternal  years  shall  spend 

In  that  bright,  happy  land. 


THE   ASCENDED   SAINT. 


[Suggested  by  the  recent  death  of  Mrs.  Margaret  Fuller,  the  honored 
mother  of  the  late  Margaret,  Countess  d'  Ossoli,  of  Rev.  Arthur  B.  Fuller, 
and  R.  F.  Fuller,  Esq.,  of  Boston.  Her  daughter,  Ellen  Kilshaw  Channing, 
and  her  son,  Eugene  Fuller,  Esq.,  have  both  recently  departed  this  life; 
the  latter  by  drowning,  like  his  sister  Margaret.] 


SOFTLY  the  sunset  of  the  sabbath  passed, 
The  western  glory  faded  into  night ; 
And,  with  the  parting  hours  of  holy  time, 
A  Christian  spirit  took  its  upward  flight. 

Her  years  on  earth  were  many,  and  those  years 
All  filled  with  usefulness  and  holy  love : 

Sorrow  had  disciplined  her  soul  for  heaven, 
And  trials  fitted  her  for  rest  above. 

Shall  we  in  sackcloth  mourn  when  such  depart, 
Free  spirits,  like  fair,  uncaged  birds,  to  soar 
Far  up  and  on  toward  wisdom  infinite, 

'Mid  glories  mortal  minds  may  not  explore  ? 
10 


146  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

Oh,  no  !  we'll  lift  on  high  a  triumph  song : 
For,  jubilate  !  all  her  griefs  are  o'er. 

Loved  ones  are  left,  but  oh  !  she  greeteth  now 
The  loved  and  wept-for  who  had  gone  before. 

Death  hath  removed  each  dark  veil  from  her  eye, 
And  radiant  spirits  walk  with  her  in  white  : 

No  sea  in  heaven  shrouds  beloved  forms, 
No  sorrow  there,  no  weary,  gloomy  night. 

• 
Strike,  strike  your  harps !  sing  loud,  ye  angel  choir, 

And  welcome  gladly  this  companion  new,  — 
New  in  the  courts  of  heaven,  youth-renewed, 
But  long  ago,  it  may  be,  known  to  you. 

The  saint,  ascending  to  his  own  "  sweet  home," 
Claims  from  no  sorrowing  hearts  a  tear  or  sigh : 

We  mourn  for  those  who  tread  earth's  pathway  still, 
But  not  for  saints  triumphant  called  to  die. 

Peace  to  the  weary  dust  whose  pain  is  o'er ! 

Joy  to  the  spirit  whose  long  race  is  run ! 
God  comfort  those  who  wait  the  summons  home, 

Hoping  to  meet  her  when  their  work  is  done  ! 

1859. 


MARGARET   FULLER   OSSOLI. 


Ij^RIEXD  of  humanity  !  whose  warm,  true  heart 
I  '         Throbbed  ever  to  redeem  a  fallen  race, 
Alas  !  that  thou  from  earthly  scenes  shouldst  part, 
Ere  thou  hadst  reached  in  joy  thy  native  place. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  147 

Thy  noble  husband,  too,  whose  manly  soul 
Longed  for  fair  freedom  in  his  native  land, 

Alas !  that  ocean's  waves  o'er  him  should  roll, 
Ere  he  could  view  in  peace  Columbia's  strand. 

And  that  sweet  "  bird  of  promise,"  whose  fair  bloom, 
Evoked  from  out  thy  paradise  of  love, 

Once  made  so  fragrant  thine  Italian  home,  — 
He,  too,  went  with  thee  to  the  land  above. 

An  undivided  circle  !  nevermore 

Will  tears  of  sad  farewell  your  cheeks  bedew  ; 
For  on  that  other,  that  celestial  shore, 

Our  God  unites  for  aye  pure  hearts  and  true. 

Margaret  !  thy  name  hath  long  been  to  my  soul 
A  talisman  of  influence  pure  and  strong ; 

Though  born  a  woman,  born  to  have  control 
O'er  human  hearts  for  virtue  far  and  long. 

Thy  name  shall  be  remembered  when  shall  die 
The  name  of  many  a  warrior  of  renown ; 

For  thou  on  nobler  fields  won  victory, 

And  gained  from  history  a  glorious  crown. 

Oh  for  the  day  when  Italy  shall  know 
How  to  be  truly  free,  in  virtue  strong ! 

We  wonder  not  that  thou  didst  love  her  so,  — 
Home  of  the  classics  and  the  land  of  song ! 

When  dawns  that  day  on  fair  Italia's  shore, 
Thou  shalt  be  well  remembered  by  the  free  : 

America  and  Europe  evermore 

Shall,  as  the  friend  of  Freedom,  think  of  thee. 


148  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

And  happier  thought !  where  souls,  from  every  chain 
Made  free,  forever  sing  redeeming  grace, 

There  shall  thy  loved  ones  hear  thy  voice  again, 
And  look  with  deepest  joy  upon  thy  face. 

They  who  love  man  love  God  ;  and  they  who  toil 
To  break  the  chains  from  men  and  minds  below 

Win,  through  the  Lamb,  a  right  to  heaven's  soil, 
Where   boundless   progress   each  glad  soul    may 
know. 

God  make  me  worthy,  Margaret,  to  meet  thee, 
And  list  to  thy  rich  converse  on  the  shore 

Where  holy  love  from  heart  to  heart  flows  free, 
And  weary  spirits  rest  forevermore. 


REV.  ARTHUR  BUCKMINSTER  FULLER.* 


BORNE    o'er    death's    rolling    wave     on    angel 
pinions, 

Our  brother  rests 
Where  blessed  Peace  rules  all  the  fair  dominions, 

And  war's  rude  crests, 
And  martial  notes,  and  hosts  arrayed  for  battle, 

Are  known  no  more  ; 

And  never  swords  shall  clash,  nor  death-balls  rattle, 
Upon  that  shore. 

*  Chaplain  Sixteenth  Massachusetts,  killed  at  Fredericksburg. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  149 

A  hero,  in  the  strife  for  Freedom  dying. 

Immortal  bays 
Shall  deck  the  brow  in  Death's  embrace  now  lying ; 

And  tuneful  lays 
From  hearts  sincere  his  virtues  be  declaring 

Who  gave  his  all, — 
Home,  health  and  life,  —  obedient  on  hearing 

His  country's  call. 

Yet  sad  our  hearts  who  mourn  the  friend  so  cherished, 

The  noble  soul, 

Thank  God !  who  lives,  while  but  our  hopes  have 
perished, 

And  at  the  goal 
Of  our  short  race  will  bid  us  welcome  gladly  ; 

And  each  true  heart 
Forget  the  pangs  which  here  it  feels  so  sadly, 

While  friends  depart. 

O  brother !  'neath  the  shadow  we  shall  wander, 

And  think  of  thee  : 
Upon  thy  many  virtues  sweetly  ponder, 

And  pray  to  be 
Where  thou  art  resting  on  the  shores  immortal, 

With  those  so  dear 
Who  earlier  entered  heaven's  gleaming  portal, 

And  left  thee  here. 

Thou  faithful  servant  of  the  High  and  Holy ! 

Heaven  shall  be 
Still  nearer  to  the  souls,  that,  bending  lowly, 

Now  mourn  for  thee, 


150  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

And,  with  the  Everlasting  Arm  beneath  them, 

Float  with  the  tide 

Which  bears  them  on  where  thou  ere  long  shall  greet 
them, 

The  other  side. 

Hero  and  saint !  enrolled  upon  the  pages 

Of  history, 
Telling  of  deeds  sublime  to  future  ages, 

Thy  name  shall  be. 
And,  better  still,  the  Lamb's  resplendent  volume 

Thy  name  shall  bear, 
Heading,  perchance,  a  long  and  brilliant  column 

Of  heroes  there. 

Farewell  for  time !  no  more  we  here  shall  greet  thee ; 

But  far  on  high, 
Amid  the  angels,  we  shall  surely  meet  thee, 

No  more  to  die. 
And  from  our  lips  the  chalice,  now  so  bitter, 

Our  God  will  take, 
And  bid  us  drink  from  heaven's  fountain  sweeter 

When  we  awake. 


REV.  SYLVANUS  COBB,  D.D.* 


O  to  thy  rest,  O  man  of  God !  on  high, 

With  those  who  bore  the  burden  and  the  heat 
Of  bygone  days,  when  Truth,  that  could  not  die, 
Burned  on  your  lips  and  guided  all  your  feet. 

•  Sung  at  the  funeral  in  School-street  Church,  Boston,  Mass. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  151 

We  mourn  thine  absence  from  familiar  ways  ; 

But  high  and  pure  the  paths  which  thou  hast  trod : 
We  hope  to  follow  till  we  meet  and  praise 

With  thee  and  thine  before  the  throne  of  God. 

Long  will  thy  name  be  cherished  'mid  the  ranks 
Of  those  who  teach  our  God's  undying  love  ; 

While  evermore  we  bow  with  reverent  thanks, 
And  ask  for  grace  to  follow  thee  above. 

Go  to  thy  place  amid  the  radiant  host : 

We  mourn  thy  loss  from  earth  with  tears  to-day  ; 

Yet  they  who  knew  thee  best  and  loved  thee  most 
Say  not,  "  Return,"  but  "  Speed  thee  on  thy  way !  " 

Rise  to  thy  place  beside  the  valiant  few 

Who  boundless  grace  proclaimed  in  days  gone  by : 

The  crown  is  thine  ;  the  victor's  palm  thy  due  ; 
And  thine  the  welcome  where  no  more  we  die. 


EUGENE   FULLER.* 


I  KNEW  him  not ;  mine  eye  had  never  gazed 
Upon  his  thoughtful  brow  : 
His  name,  so  musical,  I  scarce  had  heard 
To  recognize  till  now. 


*  Suggested  by  the  recent  death  by  drowning  of  Eugene  Fuller,  Esq., 
brother  of  Margaret,  Countess  d'Ossoli,  and  of  Rev.  Arthur  B.  Fuller,  and 
R.  F.  Fuller,  Esq.,  of  Boston. 


152  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

But  neither  years  nor  space  will  now  erase 

From  out  my  heart  his  name  ; 
For  with  his  sister's  it  will  e'er  be  linked, 

And  share  her  deathless  fame. 

Since  both  have  found,  when  homeward  tending,  rest 

Beneath  the  foamy  wave, 
Whereon  no  marble  monument  may  stand 

To  mark  their  watery  grave. 

O  Sea !  wert  thou  not  satisfied  to  take 

The  sister,  good  and  wise, 
And  bear  her  with  her  loved  ones  to  their  home 

Above  the  starry  skies  ? 

Why  shouldst  thou  rend  again  those  mourning  hearts, 

O  dark  and  treacherous  Sea  ? 
Why  bid  those  hearts  forevermore  be  sad, 

Ocean,  at  sight  of  thee  ? 

Hush !  gentle  voices  to  my  soul  are  calling, 

And,  whispering,  they  tell, 
"  The  ocean  is  the  Lord's ;  it  doth  his  bidding : 

Repine  not ;  all  is  well." 

Beyond  the  confines  of  terrestrial  regions, 

There  is  a  better  shore  : 
God's  love  unfathomed,  as  the  only  sea, 

Flows  round  it  evermore. 

There  parted  friends  shall  meet,  and  Death's  dark 
wing  — 

Like  sea-bird's  screaming  shrill  — 
Shall  never  flap  above  the  drowning  forms 

Of  friends  beloved  still. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  153 

God  speed  the  dawning  of  that  glorious  day, 

When,  sin-freed,  we  shall  be 

"Where  tears  are  wiped  from  every  grief-dimmed 
eye, 

And  where  is  no  more  sea ! 


RICHARD  F.  FULLER,  ESQ. 


SHADES  of  Mount  Auburn  !  you  are  dearer  still, 
More  reverently  I  tread  your  flowery  ways, 
Since  he  is  resting  there,  —  in  whom  no  guile 

Was  found,  who  needeth  not  my  praise. 
Our  God  hath  taken  him  ;  his  crown  is  won : 
And  yet  'twas  hard  to  say,  "  Thy  will  be  done  !  " 

Nobly  he  toiled  to  aid  his  fellow-man  ; 

His  brave  heart  to  the  right  was  ever  true  ; 
Faithful  to  Christ  throughout  his  life's  brief  span, 

He  did  a  life's  work,  though  his  years  were  few. 
He  bore  the  Temperance  banner  far  and  high  ; 
His  name  among  Truth's  heroes  will  not  die. 

Swift  was  the  stroke  to  those  who  mourn  his  loss, 
And  dark  indeed  the  cloud  around  his  home  : 

In  God's  strength  only  can  they  bear  this  cross, 
Till  Death,  the  angel,  shall  to  them  say  "  Come !  " 

Then  in  the  land  where  all  God's  children  meet, 

His  smile  again  their  longing  eyes  shall  greet. 


154  MEMORIAL  POEM'S. 

Oh,  what  a  rapturous  greeting  on  that  shore 
Awaited  him  whose  treasured  ones  were  there ! 

So  many  who  had  crossed  the  sea  before, 

And  in  whose  presence  he  a  heaven  could  share. 

We  can  but  mourn  our  loss :  to  him  'twas  gain 

To  reach  that  harbor  from  the  voyage  of  pain. 

God  make  us  faithful,  e'en  as  he  was  true  ; 

And,  in  the  Christ-like  pathway  that  he  trod, 
Help  us  to  walk,  till  to  our  raptured  view 

Shall  rise  the  glory  of  his  new  abode,  — 
Till  by  the  banks  of  Life's  fair  stream  we  stand, 
And  greet  each  other  in  the  better  land. 

1869. 


THE    TREE. 


[When  the  late  Dr.  William  A.  Alcott,  well  known  as  an  author  and  a 
lecturer  on  hygiene,  was  dying  at  his  home  in  Auburndale,  Mass.,  he  sent  as 
farewell  message  to  his  only  son,  then  in  Williams  College,  these  words, 
"  Live  for  others ! "  —  a  motto  he  had  himself  nobly  acted  upon  through  life. 
His  remains  were  interred  in  the  village  cemetery  at  West  Newton,  Mass.; 
and  a  large  pine  overshadowed  his  quiet  resting-place,  which,  greatly  to  the 
regret  of  his  friends,  has  been  removed.] 


IT  stood,  —  a  stately  evergreen, 
Above  an  honored  grave, 
As  if  an  angel-guard  serene, 

From  sacrilege  to  save. 
The  wild  birds  on  its  branches  sang 

Each  dewy,  summer  morn  ; 
And  cheerfully  their  wood-notes  rang 
To  welcome  back  the  dawn. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  155 

Now  hath  a  ruthless  hand  laid  low 

The  tree  of  which  we  tell, 
Whose  friendly  shade  no  more  we  know 

O'er  dust  we  loved  so  well. 
Ah,  well !  —  we  miss  the  evergreen 

When  snow  inwraps  that  clay  ; 
But  'neath  a  fairer  tree,  I  ween, 

The  spirit  sits  to-day,  — 

The  spirit  of  our  sainted  friend, 

Whose  work  was  nobly  done  ; 
Whose  dying  words,  —  a  fitting  end  !  — 

"  For  others  live,  my  son !  " 
Still  echo  in  our  hearts,  to  make 

Our  lives  more  true  and  high  ; 
And  we  shall  meet  him  when  we  wake 

Where  none  shall  sin  or  die. 


BURIED  IN  THE  DEEP. 


HVTOT  by  his  grave  I  stand,  — loved  long  ago,  — 
_UN      My  playmate  sleeping  "  Death's  long,  dream 
less  sleep." 

IIu  on  the  tossing  billow  met  Life's  foe  ; 
And  he,  alas  !  was  buried  in  the  deep. 

No  marble  cenotaph,  his  tomb  to  mark, 
Can  ever  rise  above  those  waves  afar ; 

But  while  remains  unquenched  in  me  Life's  spark, 
Still  bright  for  me  shall  beam  his  natal  star. 


156  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

His  birthday !  it  is  here,  and  bids  me  turn 

To  vanished  hours  of  childhood's  careless  joy, 

When  Love's  sweet  lessons  oft  my  heart  could  learn 
From  that  dear  brother,  that  kind  sailor-boy  ! 

Now,  far  from  that  loved  early  home  I  dwell ; 

No  more  those  paths  our  childhood  knew  we  tread ; 
Nor  can  we  meet  till  I  have  said  "  Farewell 

To  earthly  scenes,"  and  o'er  Death's  river  sped. 

Yet  Memory,  ever  true,  with  magic  wand 
Oft  gilds  each  hour  of  our  glad  life  anew  ; 

And  Faith  reveals  a  better  land  beyond, 

Than  e'en  our  island-home  'mid  waters  blue. 

I  hope  to  meet  him  on  the  shining  shore, 

Where  none  of  friends  bereft  shall  lonely  weep, 

Where  rolls  no  watery  waste  forevermore, 
Where  no  loved  forms  are  buried  in  the  deep. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


SHE  has  passed  away  like  the  flowers  of  earth  ; 
She  has  faded  like  a  star, 

When  the  autumn  winds  bow  the  forest-leaves, 
When  the  day-god  comes  from  far. 

But  her  memory  lives  with  loved  ones  left, 

Like  the  fragrance  of  a  flower ; 
And  oft  in  the  sky  of  each  soul  shall  beam, 

Like  the  star  of  the  morning  hour. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  157 

But  not  lost !  oh,  no !  she  but  died  to  live  ; 

She  "  passed  on  "  to  die  no  more  ; 
And  e'er  to  her  loved  ones  must  she  prove 

As  a  tie  to  a  fairer  shore. 

Oh !  then  will  the  heart  of  her  poet-son 
With  his  mother  so  loved  commune  ; 

And  his  sister  say,  with  a  smile  of  faith, 
"  Let  the  will  of  the  Lord  be  done." 

O'er  her  spirit  the  soft- winged  dove  of  peace 

In  the  death-hour  brooded  still ; 
And  the  waves  of  God's  love,  as  they  bathed  her 
soul, 

With  his  joy  seemed  that  soul  to  fill. 

Why  mourn  we  for  those  who  in  peace  depart, 

With  their  heaven  on  earth  begun  ? 
For  the  trusting  soul  and  the  loving  heart 

Wait  the  Master's  words,  "  Well  done  !  " 


STEPHEN   GRELLET. 


[Suggested  by  the  perusal  of  Sebohm's  interesting  Memoir  of  this  distin- 
guNhed  minister  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  lately  published  by  Henry 
Longstreth,  Philadelphia.] 


MINE  eyes  ne'er  looked  upon  his  saintly  brow, 
White  with  Life's  wintry  sign  ; 
Nor  have  mine  ears  his  gospel  music  heard, 
Sweet  with  the  truth  divine. 


156  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

His  birthday !  it  is  here,  and  bids  me  turn 

To  vanished  hours  of  childhood's  careless  joy, 

When  Love's  sweet  lessons  oft  my  heart  could  learn 
From  that  dear  brother,  that  kind  sailor-boy  ! 

Now,  far  from  that  loved  early  home  I  dwell ; 

No  more  those  paths  our  childhood  knew  we  tread ; 
Nor  can  we  meet  till  I  have  said  "  Farewell 

To  earthly  scenes,"  and  o'er  Death's  river  sped. 

Yet  Memory,  ever  true,  with  magic  wand 
Oft  gilds  each  hour  of  our  glad  life  anew  ; 

And  Faith  reveals  a  better  land  beyond, 

Than  e'en  our  island-home  'mid  waters  blue. 

I  hope  to  meet  him  on  the  shining  shore, 

Where  none  of  friends  bereft  shall  lonely  weep, 

Where  rolls  no  watery  waste  forevermore, 
Where  no  loved  forms  are  buried  in  the  deep. 


THE  MOTHER  OF  JOHN  G.  WHITTIER. 


SHE  has  passed  away  like  the  flowers  of  earth  ; 
She  has  faded  like  a  star, 

When  the  autumn  winds  bow  the  forest-leaves, 
When  the  day-god  comes  from  far. 

But  her  memory  lives  with  loved  ones  left, 

Like  the  fragrance  of  a  flower ; 
And  oft  in  the  sky  of  each  soul  shall  beam, 

Like  the  star  of  the  morning  hour. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  157 

But  not  lost !  oh,  no !  she  but  died  to  live  ; 

She  "  passed  on  "  to  die  no  more  ; 
And  e'er  to  her  loved  ones  must  she  prove 

As  a  tie  to  a  fairer  shore. 

Oh  !  then  will  the  heart  of  her  poet-son 
With  his  mother  so  loved  commune ; 

And  his  sister  say,  with  a  smile  of  faith, 
"  Let  the  will  of  the  Lord  be  done." 

O'er  her  spirit  the  soft- winged  dove  of  peace 

In  the  death-hour  brooded  still ; 
And  the  waves  of  God's  love,  as  they  bathed  her 
soul, 

With  his  joy  seemed  that  soul  to  fill. 

Why  mourn  we  for  those  who  in  peace  depart, 

With  their  heaven  on  earth  begun  ? 
For  the  trusting  soul  and  the  loving  heart 

Wait  the  Master's  words,  "  Well  done  ! " 


STEPHEN   GRELLET. 


[Suggested  by  the  perusal  of  Sebohm's  interesting  Memoir  of  this  distin- 
guNied  minister  of  the  Society  of  Friends,  lately  published  by  Henry 
Longstreth,  Philadelphia.] 

MINE  eyes  ne'er  looked  upon  his  saintly  brow, 
White  with  Life's  wintry  sign  ; 
Nor  have  mine  ears  his  gospel  music  heard, 
Sweet  with  the  truth  divine. 


158  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

But  yet  I  love  him,  as  a  blood-washed  soul 

To  holy  service  called ; 
And  faithful  ever  to  the  inward  voice, 

By  none  on  earth  appalled. 

I  hope  to  meet  him  on  the  heavenly  heights, 

And  hear  him  gently  say 
How  he  was  guided  by  the  Spirit's  voice 

To  Christ,  the  living  Way. 

And  how,  obedient  to  the  Master's  call, 

He  trod  the  path  designed, 
To  every  pressure  of  a  Father's  hand, 

In  Christian  faith,  resigned. 

Oh  wondrous  faith !  to  traverse  land  and  sea 

Obedient  to  his  will 
Who  only  to  the  wrathful  waves  can  say, 

In  passion's  hour,  "  Be  still." 

He  learned  to  wait  upon  his  risen  Lord, 

And  in  the  stillness  know 
When  to  the  palace,  or  the  prisoner's  cell, 

His  willing  feet  should  go. 

And,  as  a  messenger  of  love,  he  went 

And  preached  of  Christ  to  those 
Whose  sin- worn  souls  the  offered  mercy  took,  — 

A  solace  for  their  woes. 

In  the  hereafter,  glorious  and  great 

His  bright  reward  shall  be, 
To  meet  those  souls,  new-clothed,  at  Jesus'  feet, 

From  sin  forever  free. 


MEMORIAL   POEMS.  159 

Pure  spirit !  washed  and  sanctified  e'en  here, 

Through  thee  thy  Master  spoke  ; 
And  slumbering  souls,  long  fellow-heirs  of  death, 

To  God  and  life  awoke. 

I  honor  thee,  who  honored  Christ  my  Lord, 

And  wait  the  coming  day, 
When  I  shall  tell  thee  how  thy  written  words 

Oft  cheered  my  pilgrim  way. 


ONE  WEEK  IN  HEAVEN. 


[Suggested  by  the  death  of  Mrs.  Lydia  G.   Swain,   of  Nantucket,  who 
"passed  on"  Dec.  13,  1857.] 


ONE  week  has  passed  since  on  the  earth 
Those  eyes  in  death  were  closed,  — 
One  week  since  she  who  loved  our  Lord 

Hath  in  his  arms  reposed. 
Death  could  not  visit  such  as  she, 

So  loving  and  so  true, 
But  as  a  messenger,  to  guide 
The  shadow-valley  through. 

Christ  oped  to  her  the  golden  gates 

Of  everlasting  day, 
And  pointed  out  to  her  a  place 

'Mid  saints  in  bright  array. 


160  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

When,  only  seven  days  ago, 
This  sabbath  morn,  was  given, 

Her  holiest  birthday  :  now  my  friend 
Hath  spent  one  week  in  heaven. 

One  week  in  heaven !     Oh  what  bliss, 

To  change  the  sin  and  pain 
Which  mars  the  earth  for  that  bright  home 

Where  holiness  shall  reign, 
Where  not  a  pang  is  ever  known, 

Where  tears  are  wiped  away, 
Where  prayer  becomes  eternal  praise, 

And  night  is  changed  to  day ! 

< 

One  week  in  heaven  !     Long  ere  this 

Dear  kindred  souls  she's  found  : 
While  I  this  feeble  tribute  pen, 

She's  treading  heavenly  ground 
With  many  a  wise  and  happy  soul, 

And  holds  communion  sweet 
With  those  whom  while  on  earth  she  hoped 

Full  oft  in  heaven  to  greet. 

One  week  in  heaven  !     I  must  weep, 

To  think  that  we  no  more 
Shall  clasp  again  the  friendly  hand 

Upon  the  island  shore  ; 
Yet  oh !  there's  consolation  here 

To  sorrowing  spirits  given, 
That  to  the  saint  each  hour  from  earth 

Is  so  much  tune  in  heaven. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  1G1 

We  shall  not  bow  on  earth,  sweet  friend,- 

Before  our  Father's  throne  ; 
Nor  meet  again  together  where 

We've  met  his  love  to  own  : 
But  oh  !  there's  comfort  in  the  thought, 

That  those  through  Jesus  joined 
Will  meet  at  last,  when  welcomes  sweet 

Are  not  with  farewells  twined. 


LITTLE   JOSEY. 


~T71  AST  his  sands  of  life  were  passing : 
JD       Josey  knew  that  he  must  die  ; 
And  with  feeble  voice  he  whispered, 

"  Would  I'd  been  a  better  boy !  " 
Then  he  softly  said,  "  Our  Father," 

Raising  heavenward  his  eye. 

"  Hallowed  be  thy  name,"  he  whispered ; 

"  Kingdom  come,  and  will  be  done." 
Then  his  voice,  so  feeble,  faltered ; 

And  the  prayer  but  just  begun, 
He  besought  the  dear  ones  round  him, 

For  his  sake,  to  whisper  on. 

Never  sought  repentant  sinners 
Pardon  through  the  blessed  Son, 

But  the  voice  of  Jesus  whispered, 
"  Peace  and  pardon  is  thine  own." 
11 


162  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

Weep  no  more  for  little  Josey : 
His  immortal  crown  is  won. 

Softly  did  the  angels  gather 

Round  his  love-watched  couch  of  pain, 
Soothing  him  till  they  were  summoned 

To  their  glorious  home  again  ; 
Then  they  bore  his  deathless  spirit 

Up  to  join  the  heavenly  train. 


"  LIVE  FOR  OTHERS." 


[The  late  Dr.  Wm.  A.  Alcott,  well  known  as  a  philanthropist,  and  the 
author  of  many  works  on  hygiene,*  when  upon  his  death-bed  sent  a  mes 
sage  to  his  only  son,  then  absent  at  Williams  College,  which  "reflected  the 
animating  impulse  of  his  entire  life,"  viz.,  "  To  live  for  others."] 


"IVTOBLE  message  !  truly,  bravely, 
JJN       E'er  the  dying  father  strove 
Thus  to  live  and  toil  for  others, 

With  a  life-long  zeal  and  love. 
Now  his  mantle  must  be  yielded, 

Who  should  wear  it  but  his  son  ? 
Who  but  he,  by  such  a  father, 

Should  to  such  a  path  be  won  ? 

*  Dr.  Alcott  was  the  author  of  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  volumes, 
which  show  plainly  that  he  lived  for  others. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  1G3 

Glorious  message  !  when  his  jewels 

God  shall  gather  from  the  dust, 
He  who  such  a  message  heedeth 

Shall  be  numbered  with  the  just. 
He  who  lives  and  toils  for  others, 

Bearing  meekly  every  cross, 
Shall  be  found  by  the  Refiner 

Gold  forever  free  from  dross. 

Holy  message  !  fitly  uttered 

By  the  dying  lips  of  one 
"Who  in  humble  self-denial 

Daily  followed  God's  dear  Son. 
Let  the  motto,  "  Live  for  others," 

On  our  hearts  be  written  now  ; 
For  the  unselfish  spirit  weareth 

Heaven's  mark  upon  his  brow. 


MAJOR  SOULE. 


I  }  EST,  Christian  soldier  !  for  the  war  is  o'er ; 
_L\     The  strife  is  ended  with  the  victory  gained. 
Thy  country  needs  thy  loyal  sword  no  more  ; 
The  Union  hath  to  Freedom's  height  attained. 

'Tis  well  that  she  no  more  hath  need  of  thee ; 

For  thou  hast  risen  far  beyond  her  call : 
From  sin  and  sorrow  thou  art  truly  free, 

Holding  amid  the  blest  high  festival. 


164  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

We  iay  our  tributes  at  thy  loyal  feet ; 

We  crown  thy  head  with  Fame's  immortal  bays ; 
We  hail  thee  in  those  bonds,  so  pure  and  sweet, 

Which  bind  to  God  through  everlasting  days. 

Soldier  and  Christian  !  long  shall  Memory  keep 
Thy  words  of  patriot  zeal  and  holy  faith, 

Till  those  who  listen  share  thy  last,  long  sleep, 
And  rise  with  thee  victorious  over  death. 

God  shield  thy  lambs,  and  guide  them  to  his  fold, 
Blessing  their  spirits,  aiding  them  to  bless, 

And  prove  his  promise,  better  far  than  gold, 
In  caring  for  the  lone  and  fatherless. 

And  when  the  silent  boatman  comes  for  me, 
May  I,  like  thee,  depart  with  holy  joy,  — 

Launch,  like  thee,  fearless  on  the  unknown  sea, 
And  anchor  where  the  bliss  hath  no  alloy  ! 

Till  then  I'll  cherish  in  my  loyal  heart 
The  memory  of  thy  noble,  stainless  life, 

And,  while  regretting  thou  shouldst  soon  depart, 
With  all  true  patriots  joy  o'er  ended  strife. 

Farewell,  O  Christian  soldier  !  sweetly  rest 
In  the  dear  presence  of  the  Prince  of  peace  ; 

Waiting  until  thou  shalt  be  fully  blest, 

As  death  shall  give  thy  loved  ones  their  release. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  165 


ELIOT'S   MONUMENT. 


9r  I  TIS  well:  the  massive  shaft  should  stand, 

JL      Memorial  of  a  by-gone  day, 
When  apostolic  Eliot  preached 

To  souls  that  long  have  passed  away. 
The  spreading  branches,  'neath  whose  shade 

The  man  of  God  so  meekly  stood, 
Have  disappeared,  as  Time's  sharp  axe 

Struck  at  the  monarch  of  the  wood. 

But  still  the  truths  he  there  proclaimed, 

In  all  their  pristine  glory  stay 
Where  once  he  stood  ;  and  his  pure  fame 

Linked  to  those  truths  shall  ne'er  decay. 
Oh  !  better  far  the  name  he  won 

Than  those  which  Rome's  proud  conquerors 

wore: 
Theirs  was  the  dross  which  vanishes, 

And  his  the  pure  and  priceless  ore. 

The  tree  has  fallen  which  to  him 

Was  chapel,  roof,  and  holy  shrine  ; 
And  all  that  tawny  forest-tribe 

Which  listened,  now  has  known  decline. 
The  red  man  lingered  not,  but  passed 

Before  the  white  man's  kingly  tread ; 
And  Natick  names  her  Eliot 

Among  her  honored,  speaking  dead. 


166  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

So  may  we  live,  that,  when  to  us 

The  scenes  of  earth  shall  be  no  more, 
Our  memories,  like  an  echo  sweet, 

Shall  still  remain  upon  this  shore  ! 
So  live,  that,  when  the  Lord  shall  count 

Each  radiant,  pure,  and  precious  gem, 
We  shall  be  numbered  with  the  host 

That  form  his  glorious  diadem  ! 


MY  FAREWELL  TO  1864. 


THE  year  is  vanishing  :  I  hear 
The  sound  of  flying  feet, 
As  onward  haste  the  rapid  hours 

The  olden  Past  to  greet. 
What  hast  thou  been  to  me,  Old  Year, 

So  swift  receding  now  ? 
Answer,  O  Time  !  for  thou  hast  placed 
Thy  wrinkles  on  my  brow. 

Thou  hast  taken  away,  O  passing  year ! 

The  loved  of  long  ago  ; 
Thou  hast  left  the  lips  that  my  love  hath  pressed 

In  the  casket  lying  low. 
And  the  noble  youth,  our  household  pet, 

Our  brother  young  and  brave, 
Thou  hast  hid  him,  too,  from  our  loving  sight, 

Far  under  the  distant  wave. 


MEMORIAL  POEMS.  167 

My  fair  young  sister  !  the  evening  breeze, 

Through  the  pine-trees  sighing  now, 
Seems  whispering  "  Mary."     O  heart  of  mine  ! 

Be  still,  and  humbly  bow  ; 
For  the  dear  God  dealt  with  that  sister  fair 

So  tenderly  the  while, 
That  the  tearful  eyes  which  above  her  watched 

Could  upward  look  and  smile. 

Old  Year,  thou  hast  garnered,  too,  the  iheaf 

All  ripe  for  the  harvest-hour ; 
And  the  placid  smile  of  my  early  guide 

I  shall  see  on  earth  no  more. 
My  father's  mother  !  she  sits  not  now 

In  the  place  of  silent  prayer, 
With  her  Quaker  garb  ;  but  she  worships  still, 

And  I  hope  to  meet  her  there,  — 

There,  under  the  roof  of  the  temple  high, 

No  mortal  hand  hath  reared, 
Where  the  heart  is  free,  and  the  worship  pure, 

And  no  soul  by  sin  is  marred. 
Oh  !  there  I  may  meet  her,  and  read  again, 

As  oft  in  the  olden  time, 
Some  word  prophetic,  or  some  high  truth, 

Soft-clothed  in  the  music  rhyme. 

But  I  pause  ;  for  hark  !  the  winds  sigh  low 

And  sad  'mid  the  pines  to-night, 
And  I  think  of  another  dear  saint  who  has  gone 

To  walk  with  our  Lord  in  white. 


168  MEMORIAL  POEMS. 

My  pastor's  wife,  and  my  heart's  choice  friend  : 

Old  Year  !  I  saw  her  die 
Ere  thine  autumn  leaves  had  strewn  the  earth  ; 

But  her  record  was  on  high. 

God  knows  how  sad  is  this  heart  of  mine 

When  I  think  of  the  loved  ones  gone  ! 
God  knows  how  sweet  is  the  hope  which  cheers 

My  heart  as  my  days  pass  on  ! 
Old  Year,  farewell !  there  will  dawn  for  me 

A  bright  and  a  glad  New  Year, 
When  my  loved  and  lost  I  again  shall  see, 

And  no  more  partings  fear. 


POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 


POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 


A  BABY   BORNE   AWAY. 


HUSH  !  'tis  a  little  coffin,  and  a  tiny  form  is 
there : 

Only  a  promise-bud  is  plucked  from  out  a  garden  fair. 
Rare  blossoms,  full-bloomed,  fragrant,  and  beautiful 

remain : 

Why  miss   one  little  mignonette  from  out  the  gor 
geous  train  ? 

Ah !   but   the   babe    was   precious   to   the   yearning 

mother's  heart : 
This  early  gathered  flow'ret  seemed  of  her  own  life 

a  part ; 
And  though  the  casket  was  so  small,  'twas  cast  in  no 

rough  mould, 
And  held  a  jewel  costlier  far  than  El-Dorado's  gold. 

That   baby  form,  so   frail    and  weak,  divinity    en 
shrined,  — 
A  spark  of  heaven's  holiest  fire,  a  young  immortal 

mind. 

171 


172  POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 

Affection  true  and  tender  in  its  helplessness  it  woke  ; 
And   tendrils   round  fond    hearts    intwined,    which 
Death  hath  never  broke. 

A  feeble  infant  once  it  was,  a  suffering,  patient  child  ; 
But  now  upon  the  shining  shore,  all  safe  and  unde- 

filed, 
'Twill  grow  a  strong-winged  angel,  and  blessings  bear 

to  her 
Whose   never-waning  love  will  prove  o'er   death  a 

conqueror. 

That  love  outstretches  all  the  little  bounds  of  time, 

And  knows  its  only  limit  on  that  holy  height  sub 
lime, 

Where  faith  is  lost  in  sight,  and  those  who  said 
"  Farewell ! " 

With  all  they  love,  in  bowers  of  bliss,  forevermore 
shall  dwell. 


TO  A  MOTHERLESS  FRIEND. 


~T~    ET  me  draw  near  thee  in  this  hour  of  sadness, 
I  J  Friend  of  my  early  days  ! 

Thou  who  didst  send  full  many  a  ray  of  gladness 
Across  my  youthful  ways. 

I  offer  thee  a  cup  of  consolation, 

Whose  taste  mine  heart  hath  known 

In  seasons  of  that  spirit-desolation 

Which  have  been  oft  mine  own. 


POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY.  173 

Thou  mournest  now  the  absence  of  a  mother, 

Loved,  tender,  wise,  and  true : 
She  hath  but  passed  from  this  world  to  another 

Scarcely  beyond  thy  view. 

Where  the  dear  objects  that  our  souls  have  cherished 

Fade  like  the  stars  away  : 
Out  of  our  sight  are  they,  but  oh  !  not  perished, 

But  lost  in  heaven's  day. 

Our  eyes  are  weak ;  the  mists  of  earth  have  dimmed 
them  ; 

Their  chariots  of  fire 
We  see  not ;  but  with  Him  who  hath  redeemed  them 

Our  loved  ones  have  gone  higher. 

Eyes  that  have  looked  through  life  .with  love  upon 
us 

Have  looked  their  last  on  earth : 
They  wait  to  see  us  when  the  grave  that  won  us 

To  our  immortal  birth. 

Lift  thou  thy  thoughts,  in  this  dark  hour,  to  heaven, 

And  whisper,  "  God  is  love :  " 
He  hath  but  taken  what  his  love  hath  given 

To  greater  joy  above.  \ 

Look  up  to  him,  and  oh !  may  he  sustain  thee, 

Thou  dear  and  stricken  one  ! 
And,  by  Life's  discipline,  through  Jesus  train  thee, 

Till  thou  art  all  his  own,  — 


176  POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 

She  is  in  heaven  !     She  no  more  may  tread 
The  devious  paths  of  earth  with  weary  feet : 

Glory  celestial  crowns  that  dear  one's  head ; 
Joy  is  her  heritage  where  saved  ones  meet. 

She  is  in  heaven  !     While  sadly  I  peruse 

Her  letters  filled  with  love  to  our  blest  Lord, 

I  weep,  as  Memory  the  past  reviews : 

Her  willing  pen  for  me  can  trace  no  word. 

She  is  in  heaven !    Oh,  why  should  I  regret 
The  summons  merciful  which  called  her  home  ! 

Her  cheeks  no  more  with  earth-born  tears  are  wet : 
Oh  for  the  hour  when  Christ  shall  bid  me  "  Come !  " 

She  is  in  heaven  !     Close  by  our  Saviour's  side, 
She  roves  amid  the  verdant  pastures  now, 

Forever  with  her  Master  to  abide, 

Where  all  with  loving  hearts  to  Jesus  bow. 

She  is  in  heaven  !     I  long  to  greet  her  there, 
Far  from  the  snares  of  sin,  the  clouds  of  earth, 

Her  rapturous  bliss  at  seeing  God  to  share, 
In  that  safe  fold  of  our  immortal  birth. 


KISS  ME,  MOTHER. 


KISS  me,  mother !  "  the  pale  lips  said  ; 
And  the  glance  of  the  loving  eye 
Told  more  than  words  how  deep  the  love 
Of  the  maiden,  called  to  die, 


POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY.  177 

For  the  noble  mother  who  bent  above 

The  couch  of  her  dying  child, 
And  smoothed  the  pillow  with  gentle  words, 

And  love-tones  sweet  and  mild. 

The  mother  bent  o'er  her  youngest  born 

With  an  aching  heart  that  day ; 
For  she  knew  the  messenger  death  was  near, 

To  take  her  child  away. 
But  she  stilled  the  throbbing  of  anguish  there, 

With  the  "  hush  "  of  a  living  faith,  — 
A  faith  that  is  strong  'mid  earthly  trials, 

And  calm  in  the  hour  of  death. 

Then  she  kissed  her  child  with  a  mother's  kiss, 

How  full  of  holy  love  ! 
And  she  pointed  her  lamb  to  the  Lamb  of  God, 

And  the  rest  of  the  saints  above. 
And  the  music  tones  of  a  holy  hymn 

Filled  the  air  of  the  quiet  room 
Where  the  Christian  maiden,  with  faith  sublime, 

Awaited  her  summons  home. 

And  the  Master  called  for  his  early  flower 

To  bloom  in  the  garden  above  : 
As  the  sabbath  closed,  she  passed  away 

To  the  land  of  sinless  love. 
While  her  young  companions  were  met  for  prayer, 

Where  oft  she  had  met  with  them, 
As  they  spoke  of  her  prayers,  she  upward  passed 

To  praise  with  the  seraphim. 
12 


178  POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 

Her  last  dear  words !  they  will  live  for  aye 

In  that  mother's  faithful  heart ; 
And  many  a  time,  by  a  vision  stirred, 

That  mother  from  sleep  will  start, 
As  that  "  Kiss  me,  mother !  "  shall  echo  sweet 

In  memory's  ears  anew, 
And  shall  bend  again  o'er  that  couch  with  love 

Which  a  mother  alone  can  know. 

O  mother-heart!  thou  shalt  throb  in  joy 

On  the  bright  and  shining  shore  ; 
For  the  "  Kiss  me,  mother  !  "  shall  truly  sound 

From  that  precious  child  once  more, 
As  she  welcomes  thy  coming  to  join  the  band 

Whose  robes  are  in  blood  made  white, 
In  the  land  where  the  heart  is  satisfied, 

On  the  day  that  knows  no  night. 


THE  ANSWERED  PRAYER. 


~T~yPON  her  couch  of  pain  from  day  to  day, 

\^J       The  darling  daughter  and  the  only  child 
Tn  Christian  patience  waited  for  the  hour 

When  Christ  should  call  her  with  his  voice  so  mild. 

For  she  had  found  him  precious  to  her  soul, 

When  health's  bright  angel  from  her  presence  fled, 

And  blessed  the  love  that  cheered  the  path  of  one 
So  soon  to  be  among  the  silent  dead. 


POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY.  179 

Her  mother,  with  a  Christian's  holy  trust, 
Resigned  her  daughter  to  her  Saviour's  care, 

Yet  listened  with  a  mother's  yearning  love 

While  feebly  rose  to  heaven  that  daughter's  prayer. 

"  Father  in  heaven  !  thy  will,  not  mine,  be  done ; 

Yet,  if  it  please  thee,  o'er  the  waters  dark, 
For  Jesus'  sake,  permit  thy  child  to  know 

A  gentle  passage  for  her  spirit-bark." 

The  prayer  was  answered :  when  the  summons  came 
That  snapped  the  cord  which  bound  her  soul  to 
earth, 

Soft  as  the  zephyr  was  her  parting  breath, 
And  peacefully  she  found  immortal  birth. 

Now  'mid  the  hosts  who  hymn  a  Saviour's  praise 
Her  voice  resoundeth,  where  she  weeps  no  more  ; 

And  those  who  loved  her  blessed  the  God  who  gave 
Such  easy  passage  to  Life's  farther  shore. 

Not  many  years  will  pass  ere  they  shall  meet,  — 
That  Christian  mother,  and  that  angel  child : 

Then  sweet  will  be  the  anthem  both  will  sing 
For  their  inheritance  all  undefined. 

For  that  bright  home  where  all  God's  children  meet, 
Where  heart  greets  heart  in  love  that  ne'er  shall 
die, 

And  where  no  sin  shall  mar  the  perfect  bliss 
Of  those  Christ  welcomes  to  his  home  on  high. 


180  POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 

TO  A  BEREAVED  FRIEND. 


WE    have    met    like    two    barks   upon   Time's 
rushing  tide : 

We  have  parted,  but  oh,  not  forever  ! 
Our  pilot,  our  chart,  and  our  haven  the  same : 
We  shall  meet,  and  to  part  again  never, 

In  the  harbor  above,  where  the  soul  shall  be  moored, 
Far  away  from  Life's  tempest-tossed  ocean  ; 

We  shall  meet  and  rejoice  where  no  tear  dims  the 

eye, 
Where  the  Lord  whom  we  love  is  our  portion. 

There  the  dear  ones  who  passed  from  our  presence 
away, 

And  left  our  hearts  burdened  with  sorrow, 
Will  greet  us  again,  and  the  glory  enjoy 

Of  that  day  which  shall  have  no  to-morrow. 

We  sigh  for  their  presence  ;  we  long  for  the  hour 
When  our  eyes  shall  again  rest  upon  them  ; 

And  we  almost  regret  that  the  messenger  Death 
So  early  for  heaven  hath  won  them. 

Yet  deep  in  our  heart  of  hearts  cherish  we  now 

Such  love  to  our  dear  risen  Saviour, 
That  we  echo  his  words  'mid  Gethsemane's  gloom, 

"  Not  my  will,  but  thine,  Lord,  forever." 

Baptized  oft  with  suffering,  and  tasted  the  cup 
Which  our  Master  hath  drank  deep  before  us, 

With  Faith's  holy  boldness,  and  Love's  perfect  trust, 
And  the  angel  of  prayer  hovering  o'er  us, 


POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY.  181 

We  will  press  toward  the  mark ;  we  will  hope  for  the 
prize 

Of  our  high  and  our  heavenly  calling  ; 
Nor  fear  while  we  lean  on  the  All-Father's  arm, 

For  he  keepeth  his  children  from  falling. 


A  MOTHER  IN  HEAVEN. 


rTlHOUGH  every  view  of  heaven  is  fraught 
JL       With  bliss  the  good  may  share, 
There's  added  sweetness  in  the  thought, 
"  We  have  a  mother  there." 

We  feel  her  life-long  truth  and  love, 

Her  reverence  for  the  right, 
Prepared  her  for  a  home  above, 

And  leaves  her  memory  bright. 

As  summer  breezes  softly  float 

O'er  mead  and  flowery  dell, 
So  to  our  hearts  her  earnest  words, 

Remembered,  oh,  so  well ! 

They  linger  in  our  memory  now, 

As  tones  of  music  sweet, 
And  will  as  gems  be  cherished  e'er, 

Till  we  asrain  shall  meet. 


182  POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY. 

Whatever  her  task  in  early  life 
To  curb  each  wayward  will, 

We  prospered  in  the  noble  strife, 
And  mother  loves  us  still. 

t 

How  blest  the  thought  that  mother  dear, 

On  yonder  heavenly  shore, 
Each  sweet,  familiar  voice  shall  hear 

Of  loved  ones  gone  before ! 

God  of  the  orphan  !  now  to  thee 
Shall  praise  from  each  be  given, 

To  whom  may  come  the  soothing  thought, 
"  My  mother  is  in  heaven." 


ONLY  AND  WELL-BELOVED. 


AN  only  child,  the  household  pet  and  joy, 
The  idol  of  her  home, 

How  can  we  say,  'twas  well  that  she  should  die, 
A  bud  forbade  to  bloom ! 

How,  but  with  faith  that  He  who  sees  the  end, 

From  every  opening  hour, 
Hath  with  the  kindness  of  a  loving  Friend, 

With  wisdom  as  with  power, 

This  sweet  one  gathered  to  the  angel-band, 

To  sing  forever  there, 
In  the  rich  music  of  the  better  land, 

Peaceful  and  blest  as  fair  ! 


POEMS  OF  SYMPATHY.  183 

God  gave  his  Only  and  his  Well-beloved, 

To  die  upon  the  cross  : 
Oh,  let  our  spirits,  every  fear  removed, 

Count  gain  what  earth  calls  loss  ! 

Earth  with  its  sorrows  is  no  more  to  her, 
Who  sinless  heights  hath  gained  : 

The  bliss  secured  by  Christ  the  Conqueror 
She  early  hath  attained. 

And  safe  upon  the  glad  and  peaceful  shore, 

The  well-beloved  may  rest : 
God  loves  and  guards  our  dear  one  evermore, 

And  yet  will  make  us  blest, 

When  we  have  followed  him  by  faith  a  while, 

With  a  re-union  hour, 
Where  sin  can  nevermore  our  hearts  beguile, 

And  death  has  lost  his  power. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


"NO  TURNING  BACK." 


[The  Rev.  Dr.  Ilamlin,  in  his  interesting  discourse  on  Religious  Liberty  in 
Turkey,  delivered  at  the  South  Church,  Salem,  on  the  afternoon  of  Sunday, 
March  17,  1861,  gave  the  following  as  the  purport  of  a  note  secretly  sent 
from  one  small  band  of  persecuted  Christians  in  Turkey  to  another 
company  in  similar  circumstances:  "  We  are  seven  men,  faithful  and  true. 
There  is  death,  but  no  turning  back."  This  concise  but  comprehensive 
missive  has  suggested  the  following  lines:] 


WHY  should  we  turn  ?  the  desert  is  behind  us ; 
Before  us  only  lies  the  goodly  land, 
Where  verdant  fields  and  shady  rills  will  'mind  us, 
By  blissful  contrast,  of  burning  sand. 

Why  should  we  turn  ?  the  joys  of  earth  are  fleeting ; 

Each  gorgeous  bubble  bursts  before  our  eyes : 
Unfading  joys  in  heaven  are  awaiting 

Those  who  press  onward  to  obtain  the  prize. 

Why  should  we  turn  ?  friends  dearly  loved  and  cher 
ished 

Have  passed  before  us  to  the  world  of  light  : 
Ne'er  from  our  hearts  has  their  sweet  memory  per 
ished  ; 
We  wait  to  meet  them  on  the  heavenly  height. 

187 


188  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Why  should  we  turn  ?  e'en  though  the  way  is  weary, 
And  steep  and  rugged,  yet  we'll  struggle  on  : 

Christ  wore  the  thorns,  his  earthly  path  was  dreary ; 
We  follow  thee,  thou  lowly,  suffering  one. 

Why  should  we  turn  ?  death  may  be  just  before  us  ; 

Yet  there's  no  turning  back  for  Christ's  dear  flock. 
What  though  the  gathering  tempest  should  burst  o'er 
us, 

We  shall  be  sheltered  'neath  Salvation's  rock, 

We  will  not  turn  !  We  welcome  Death's  dark  billow  : 
'Twill  bear  us  on  to  our  loved  Master's  side  ; 

We  share  his  calmness  who  his  head  could  pillow 
Amid  the  storms  o'er  the  Galilean  tide. 

We  will  not  turn  !     On,  on,  we  hasten  gladly, 
Counting  the  hours  before  our  change  shall  come : 

How  can  we  journey  onward  slowly,  sadly, 
When  just  before  us  is  our  heavenly  home  ! 


THE  MUSIC  OF  THE   PINES. 


ON  a  day  in  the  early  autumn  time, 
I  roamed  with  a  friend  afar, 
Where  the  ebon  berries,  and  the  orchis  fair, 
And  the  lofty  pine-trees  are. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  189 

Oh,  the  music  roar  of  the  forest-pine, 

How  it  filled  my  heart  with  glee, 
As  it  brought  to  mem'ry's  view  the  hours 

Of  my  childhood  by  the  sea ! 

The  feathery  fern  by  the  mossy  rock 

In  its  wild  luxuriance  grew ; 
And  the  trailing  vines  of  the  blackberry  swept 

In  the  tangled  pathway  new  ; 
And  the  music-voice  of  the  forest-pines 

Filled  the  air  with  melody, 
Like  the  roar  of  the  cataract's  waters  grand, 

Or  the  sound  of  the  distant  sea. 

There  the  fragrant  saxifraga  rose 

By  the  whortleberry's  side, 
In  the  welcome  shade  of  the  lofty  trees, 

Where  the  zephyrs  cool  abide  ; 
And  the  verdurous  plumes  of  the  forest  pines 

Swift  waved  in  their  murmurous  glee  ; 
And  my  heart  went  back  to  my  childhood's  home 

And  the  voice  of  its  sounding  sea. 

There  the  song  of  the  forest-bird  was  heard 

From  the  bough  far-off  and  high, 
And  the  whistle  clear  of  the  farmer's  boy 

As  he  came  our  pathway  nigh ; 
But  the  solemn  voice  of  the  murmurous  pines 

Was  the  sweetest  sound  to  me, 
As  it  brought  to  mind  those  earlier  hours 

By  its  roar  like  the  distant  sea. 


190  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

When  the  ransomed  gather  in  bliss  at  last, 

Where  the  sea  shall  roll-  no  more, 
Say,  how  shall  the  heart  be  satisfied 

That  was  born  on  an  island  shore  ? 
Oh,  the  music-roar  of  the  fores*t-pines 

May  be  hoard  from  Life's  fair  tree, 
And  its  healing  leaves  have  a  murmurous  voice, 

Like  the  sound  of  the  distant  sea  ! 


THE  RECEDING  COMET. 


THOU  radiant  traveller   through   the  realms  of 
space, 

We  welcomed  thee,  as  to  our  startled  eyes 
Thy  shining  nucleus  and  thy  silvery  train 
Gave  their  effulgence  to  our  evening  skies. 

Thou  hast  made  yet  more  beautiful  to  us 

Night's  glittering  canopy ;  and  filled  our  souls 

With  wonder  at  His  power  whose  fiat  high 
Woke  thee  to  being,  and  thy  course  controls. 

Now  thou'rt  receding  from  our  feeble  sight, 
Of  other  worlds  to  glance  athwart  the  skies : 

Go  !  and  awake  to  wonder  other  souls, 

Till  praise  to  God  from  them  shall  also  rise. 

G  od  the  Creator !  Wonder-working  Power ! 

Seen  in  the  glorious  works  his  hand  hath  made ; 
God  the  Upholder !  in  the  robes  of  might 

And  wisdom  infinite  for  aye  arrayed. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  191 

Our  spirits  praise  him  as  the  King  of  kings, 

Incomprehensible  as  he  is  good. 
Thou  flaming  visitant,  we  know  thee  not: 

How  by  our  searching**  can  we  find  out  God  ? 

Yet  go,  bright  voyager,  to  other  worlds, 
And  tell  the  praises  which  from  sea  to  sea, 

To  him  who  spread  thy  banner  on  the  sky, 

Have  risen  from  human  hearts  at  sight  of  thee. 


MY    MOTHER'S   VOICE   IN   PRAYER. 


I'VE  heard  her  oft  at  the  midnight  hour, 
When  all  was  still  beside, 
And  her  voice  alone  on  the  silent  air 

Like  music  seemed  to  glide  ; 
And  I've  hushed  my  breath  to  listen  then, 

In  the  holy  silence  there  : 
Oh  !  I  never,  never,  can  forget 
My  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 

I've  heard  her  oft  in  my  early  days, 

As  she  knelt  beside  my  bed ; 
And  I  almost  feel,  this  very  hour, 

Her  hand  upon  my  head. 
I  remember  how  I  wondered  then, 

If  angels  hovered  near  ; 
And  in  my  inmost  soul  I  loved 

My  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 


192  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

I've  seen  her  bowed  in  the  holy  place 

Where  the  saints  were  met  to  pray, 
And  close  with  the  echoing  song  of  praise 

The  holy  sabbath  day. 
I  know  by  the  gleaming  of  many  an  eye 

Her  form  was  welcome  there, 
And  many  a  heart  with  mine  has  hailed 

My  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 

She  has  knelt  by  the  bed  of  the  dying  saint, 

As  he  drew  near  the  shadowy  vale, 
And  spoke  of  the  promises  dear  and  true, 

Lest  his  faith  in  the  Lamb  should  fail ; 
And  the  Master  listened,  I  know,  to  her 

Who  knelt  'mid  the  sobbings  there, 
While  the  parting  soul  in  triumph  heard 

My  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 

I've  heard  her  pray,  in  this  trial  hour, 

For  the  land  she  loves  the  best, 
That  the  dove  of  Peace  might  fold  its  wings 

Once  more  on  Freedom's  breast. 
She  asked  that  the  sons  of  worthy  sires 

For  her  might  the  armor  wear,  — 
Ah  !  my  country's  call  is  blending  with 

My  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 

I  go  to  the  field  with  a  hopeful  heart ; 

My  mother  has  kissed  me  "  Good-by :  " 
She  will  greet  me  with  joy  if  I'm  spared  to  return, 

And  smile  through  her  tears  if  I  die. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  193 

And  I  shall  remember  her  in  the  camp, 

And  follow  her  teachings  there  ; 
For  no  siren  song  can  drown  the  tones 

Of  my  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 

When  the  scenes  of  battle  mine  eye  shall  view, 

And  the  shot  and  shell  fly  fast, 
I  shall  think  of  mother,  her  parting  words, 

And  her  look  when  I  saw  her  last. 
And  afar  above  all  the  noise  of  strife, 

Lifting  off  from  my  soul  its  care, 
I  shall  hear,  as  the  angels  hear  on  high, 

My  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 

To  my  latest  hour  will  those  precious  tones 

In  my  memory  sweetly  sound, 
While  I  walk  the  earth,  and  when,  saved  by  Christ, 

With  the  ransomed  I  am  found. 
Oh,  yes !  while  the  music  of  raptured  saints 

Stirs  ever  the  heavenly  air, 
I  shall  hear  in  the  chambers  of  my  soul 

My  mother's  voice  in  prayer. 


TO    A   DAFFODIL. 


OD  did  not  give  to  thee  the  beauty  of  the  rose, 

Nor  yet  the  fragrance  of  the  violet  sweet, 
Yet  named  thee  as  a  flower  which  early  blows, 
Among  the  first  returning  spring  to  greet. 

13 


194  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Then  hail  to  thee,  thou  golden  daffodil ! 

Though  of  delusive  hope  thou  art  the  sign, 
Truth  is  the  same,  whoe'er  the  pulpit  fill: 

Love's  token  only  is  this  flower  of  mine. 

Thou  art  the  earliest  blossom  which  to  me 

From  friendly  hands  hath  borne  a  message  sweet, 

Since  spring  hath  called  the  bird  and  flower  and  bee 
To  gladden  earth  with  song  and  beauty  meet. 

Welcome,  thrice  welcome,  as  the  gift  of  one 
Who  would  send  sunshine  into  every  heart, 

And  bid  the  tearful  think  of  that  glad  morn 

When  God  himself  shall  say  to  grief,  "  Depart." 

Around  her  earthly  path  may  flowers  of  love, 
Of  peace  and  hope,  in  fadeless  colors  bloom  ! 

And  may  she  gather,  where  the  angels  rove, 
Those  amaranths  that  groAV  beyond  the  tomb  ! 


THE    STUDENT'S   PRAYER. 


"  In  every  thing  by  prayer  and    supplication,  with  thanksgiving,  let  your 
requests  be  made  known  unto  God." — PHIL.  iv.  6. 


OTHOU  who  gavest  me  those  mental  powers 
By  which  thy  words  and  works  I  may  peruse, 
Be  ever  near  me  in  those  study-hours, 

Which,  with  delight,  from  other  toil  I  choose. 
The  volume  once  by  inspiration  given, 
The  chart  by  which  to  cross  Life's  sea  to  heaven ; 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  195 

And  that  glad  book  of  Nature,  spread  abroad, 
Which  tells  in  voiceless  eloquence  of  God,  — 
Oh  help  me  faithfully  to  study  these, 
As  one  who  on  each  page  thy  goodness  sees ! 

When,  with  a  reverent  spirit,  I  shall  take 
The  book  divine  to  con  its  lessons  o'er, 
Dear  Master,  bid  my  soul  to  joy  awake, 

As  thy  rich  love  shall  be  my  garnered  lore ; 
And  let  the  record  of  thy  spotless  life 
Inspire  me  for  the  earnest  Christian  strife, 
And  every  wise.requirement  of  my  Lord 
Be  written  on  my  heart  as  in  thy  word, 
While  Memory  shall  thy  promises  retain, 
To  calm  my  fears,  and  soothe  each  mental  pain. 

When  o'er  the  classic  page  in  ancient  tongue, 

I  muse  on  heroes  of  the  twilight-time, 
May  all  the  melody  of  Homer's  song, 

And  Virgil's  music,  in  their  pleasant  rhyme, 
My  memory  quicken  when  my  pen  essays 
To  write  an  anthem,  Father,  to  thy  praise, 
And  each  high  attribute  to  their  gods  given 
I  then  may  claim  for  thee,  O  King  of  heaven ! 
And  every  virtue  heroes  there  displayed 
Declare  but  dust  when  'gainst  my  Saviour's  weighed, 

When  in  the  languages  still  used  by  men, 
In  lands  beyond  the  waters  wide  and  lone, 

I  strive  to  speak,  and  grasp  within  my  ken 
The  lore  of  other  countries  than  my  own, 

Oh  give  me  wisdom  to  discern  the  true, 

Nor  let  me  gather  thorns,  but  blossoms  strew 


196  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Around  my  mental  path,  that  I  may  twine 
Some  chaplet  from  those  countries  worthy  mine, — 
Gain  knowledge  from  their  stores  which  shall  impart 
New  vigor  to  my  mind,  wake  new  love  in  my  heart ! 

When  pondering  over  problems  in  my  task, 
While  Euclid  I  essay  to-  demonstrate, 

While  algebraic  signs,  like  puzzles,  ask 
That  I  the  true  equation  e'er  should  make, 

Then  quicken  thou  my  mind  for  vigorous  thought, 

Assist  me  to  untie  each  Gordian  knot, 

And  let  the  mathematics,  e'en  the  abstract, 

Assist  to  make  my  moral  self  exact ; 

Then  shall  I  safely  tread  Life's  labyrinth  way, 

Following  the  clew  which  leads  to  endless  day. 

When  on  the  page  of  history  I  read 

The  deeds  of  men  upon  thy  footstool,  Lord  ! 
Each  bright  example  may  my  spirit  heed, 

And  be  the  sins  of  heroes  e'en,  abhorred. 
As  sacred  History  shall  Thee  proclaim, 
Great  Leader  of  the  hosts  that  owned  thy  name ! 
May  I  respond  to  every  word  of  praise, 
And  seek  thee  as  the  Guide  of  all  my  ways, 
While  every  record  of  each  tribe  and  land 
Awakes  the  thought  of  thy  controlling  hand  ! 

All,  all,  my  hours  of  study  consecrate, 

Great  Source  of  wisdom !  and  each  lesson  bless 

To  my  aspiring  spirit,  till  they  make 

My  mind  as  well  as  heart  thy  law  confess. 

Then,  like  a  hero  in  his  armor  clad, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  197 

Bid  me,  in  learning's  panoply  arrayed, 
Go  forth  to  wage  successfully  the  war 
Which  wisdom  doth  with  ignorance  declare, 
While,  with  the  knowledge  which  makes  truly  wise, 
I  point  immortal  spirits  to  the  skies. 


TO  MARIA  MITCHELL. 


bright  waves  glancing,  beckon  thee  away, 
J_      And  other  lands  are  calling  thee  from  home  : 
Receive  in  kindness  now  this  simple  lay, 

Ere  thou  in  far  and  foreign  climes  shall  roam. 

I  bid  thee  go :  my  heart  exults  with  thee, 

That  soon  thy  feet  may  press  a  distant  shore : 

Our  mother-country,  England,  thou  shalt  see, 
And  view  her  smiling  fields  and  ruins  hoar. 

On  Alpine  heights  ere  long  perchance  thou'lt  stand, 
And  view  with  pleasure  beauty's  landscape  wide  ; 

May  tread  the  storied  haunts  of  classic  land, 
And  float  upon  the  Rhine's  or  Arno's  tide. 

But,  wheresoe'er  thou  goest,  may  the  Power 
Which  bids  the  orbs  of  heaven  in  order  move 

Protect  and  guide  and  bless  thee  every  hour, 
Till  thou  shalt  cease  afar  from  home  to  rove  ! 

May  Peace  her  white  wings  fold  upon  thy  heart, 
As  o'er  the  billowy  deep  thy  bark  shall  glide ; 

And  all  with  whom  thou,  sorrowing,  must  part, 
Be  spared  to  greet  thee  on  the  homeward  side  1 


198  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

In  rich  communion  with  the  wise  afar, 

Mayst  thou  full  many  a  happy  season  spend, 

While  the  fair  lustre  of  thy  natal  star 

Shall  with  their  radiance  ever  calmly  blend  ! 

Farewell !  our  paths  on  earth  may  seldom  meet ; 

Our  orbits  ne'er  again  may  cross  below  ; 
But  I  shall  e'er  thy  name  with  pleasure  greet, 

And  ask  that  laurel-wreaths  thy  path  may  strew. 

But,  better  far,  Maiia,  may  thy  name 
Be  written  fair  upon  the  heavenly  scroll, 

That  thus  thou  mayst  possess  eternal  fame, 
And  reach  at  last  ambition's  highest  goal ! 

There  may  we  meet;  there  may  I  tell  to  thee 
What  these  few  lines  but  feebly  may  impart, 

That,  while  my  youth  shall  dwell  in  memory, 
I  will  remember  thee  with  grateful  heart ! 

Farewell,  once  more !  health's  angel  thee  attend, 
And  with  its  wings  full  often  fan  thy  brow  ; 

And  every  soul  that  greets  thee  prove  a  friend, 
Till  thou  shalt  meet  the  friends  thou  leavest  now. 


BRANT  POINT. 


HAUNT  of  my  childhood,  I  can  ne'er  forget 
Those  pleasant  hours  of  yore, 
When  free  from  care,  and  with  a  bounding  step, 
I  trod  that  sandy  shore. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  199 

There  have  I  gambolled  oft  in  childhood's  glee, 

Climbing  each  sandy  hill, 
Gathering  fair  shells  and  wave-worn  pebbles  bright, 

Watching  each  snowy  sail. 

I  ever  loved  in  Nature's  book  to  trace 

The  proof  of  love  divine, 
And  oft,  as  on  illuminated  page, 

See  truest  wisdom  shine. 

And  there  I  saw,  in  pebble  and  in  shell, 

In  wave  and  fish  and  weed, 
Those  tokens  of  God's  presence  which  I  crave 

To  meet  my  spirit's  need. 

Nor  only  on  the  sandy  shore  I  found 

Enjoyment  pure  and  sweet, 
But  gladly  up  the  far-seen  beacon  tower 

Went  oft  my  youthful  feet. 

And  there,  with  trap-door  closed,  I  read, 

From  human  ears  afar, 
The  wondrous  words  of  Avon's  bard,  and  those 

Which  traced  Childe  Harold's  star. 

Round  the  great  lantern  swept  the  ocean  blast, 

My  childish  voice  to  drown  ; 
Far  off  before  me  stretched  the  mighty  deep ; 

Behind,  my  native  town. 

Gone  is  that  lighthouse  now,  its  inmates  gone : 

A  fairer  structure  stands, 
To  guide  the  mariner  in  safety  o'er 

Those  shifting,  dangerous  sands. 


200  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  scattered  are  the  friends  who  with  me  there 

Knew  many  a  happy  day  ; 
Some,  from  that  isle  to  heaven's  serener  shore, 

Forever  passed  away. 

But  in  my  heart  the  memories  remain 

Of  that  sweet,  olden  time  ; 
So,  grateful,  I,  within  a  far-off  home, 

Embalm  Brant  Point  in  rhyme  : 

Content,  if  some  who  oft  have  wandered  there 

With  me  in  days  agone 
Shall  read  these  lines  with  loving  thought  of  one 

Who,  absent,  yet  loves  on ; 

And,  though  Nantucket's  star  may  seem  to  set, 

Thanks  God  for  what  has  been 
In  days  of  yore,  whose  visions  linger  yet, 

Robed  in  affection's  sheen. 


DEAD  HOPES. 


r  I  THE  dead  leaves  strew  my  daily  paths, 
JL      And  dead  hopes  strew  my  heart. 
Alas  !  that  autumn  storms  must  come, 

And  summer  joys  depart ; 
Alas  !  that  prospects  bright  as  morn 
Should  fade  like  day  when  eve  comes  on. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  201 

The  cherished  hope  of  early  years, 

Too  bright  for  earth  to  hold, 
The  gay,  glad  promise  of  my  youth, 

The  flower  that  would  unfold, 
Now,  withered  like  the  autumn  leaves, 
No  more  my  trusting  heart  deceives. 

I  walk  henceforth  beneath  the  cloud ; 

My  heart  is  shrouded  now  : 
Yet,  meekly,  Father,  to  thy  will, 

That  aching  heart  would  bow. 
Sunshine,  thank  God !  is  on  my  head, 
Since  only  earthly  hopes  are  dead. 

What  though  the  forms  I  loved  so  well 

Are  sleeping  'neath  the  sod ! 
What  though  the  spirits  once  with  me 

Are  walking  now  with  God, 
In  that  bright  land  where  angels  sing, 
And  bloom  the  flowers  of  endless  spring ! 

There  conies  a  day  my  soul  shall  know, 

When  all  I  hoped  for  here, 
Forever  fresh,  forever  bright, 

Shall  be  my  portion  there  : 
All  that  the  Father  gives  the  Son 
Shall  share  the  joys  by  angels  known. 

The  dead  leaves  in  my  daily  path 

Will  one  day  disappear ; 
And  vernal  beauty  clothe  the  earth, 

And  summer  joys  draw  near  : 
So  will  my  heart,  of  earth's  hopes  riven, 
Bloom  with  the  unfading  hopes  of  heaven. 


202  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


ANGELIC  LANGUAGE. 


"  The  angels,  in  like  manner,  can  utter  in  a  few  words  singular  the  things 
which  are  written  in  a  volume  of  any  book,  and  can  express  such  things, 
or  every  word,  as  elevate  its  meaning  to  interior  wisdom;  for  their  speech 
is  such,  that  it  is  consonant  with  affections,  and  every  word  with  ideas.  Ex 
pressions  are  also  varied,  by  an  infinity  of  methods,  according  to  the  series 
of  the  things  which  are  in  a  complex  in  the  thought."  —  SWKDENBOKG. 


HOW  faint  and  feeble  are  the  words  we  speak 
When  deep  emotions  in  our  souls  awake  ! 
How  vainly  do  we  strive  our  inmost  heart 
To  friends  on  earth  by  language  to  impart ! 
When,  heavenly  Logos  !  will  the  hour  draw  nigh 
That  angel-language  will  our  need  supply  ? 

Oft  have  my  lips  to  silence  been  compelled, 
Because  the  love,  which  from  deep  fountains  welled 
For  cherished  friends,  had  utterance  denied ; 
Since  earth  hath  not  that  language,  deep  and  wide, 
Yet  comprehensive,  which  those  bright  ones  know 
Who  dwell  in  bliss  where  soon  we  hope  to  go. 

Oft  as  my  soul  has  bowed  in  solemn  prayer, 
I've  sought  to  speak  its  adoration  there, 
And  sighed  in  vain  for  that  live,  burning  coal 
Which  touched  the  poet-prophet's  lips  of  old, 
And  yet  rejoiced  that  Christ  could  read  my  heart, 
And  knew  the  worship  language  failed  t'impart. 

There  comes  a  day,  my  spirit  joys  to  know, 

When  thought  and  utterance  side  by  side  shall  flow : 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.      •  203 

Both  from  the  fount  of  the  affections  spring, 
And  each  the  wealth  of  heavenly  wisdom  bring. 
O  blessed  Master  !  bring  me  to  that  land 
Where  those  I  love  my  heart  shall  understand. 

Guide  me,  oh,  guide  me  !  o'er  Life's  waters  dark, 
Till  moored  in  heaven  is  my  spirit  bark, 
Where,  with  angelic  language,  I  may  tell 
My  love  for  him  who  "  doeth  all  things  well," 
Life's  stormy  gales  to  heavenly  zephyrs  lulled, 
And  all  my  soul  by  perfect  love  controlled. 


ON  THE  SHORE  OF  THE  SOUNDING  SEA. 


AIR.  —  "  Banks  of  the  Blue  Moselle." 


OH  !  I'd  love  to  wander  a  while,  my  friend, 
Far  away  and  alone  with  thee, 
"  In  the  starry  light  of  a  summer  night," 

On  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea. 
And  I'd  joy  to  hear  from  thy  lips,  my  friend, 

Words  of  love  that  are  dear  to  me, 
While  thy  soulful  tones  blend  with  ocean's  moans, 
On  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea. 

Oh  !  I'd  love  to  look  in  thine  eyes,  my  friend, 

And  there  read  of  thy  love  for  me ; 
And  a  sister's  smile  should  my  heart  beguile, 

On  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea. 


204  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  we'd  talk,  as  we  noticed  the  gleam  afar, 

Where  the  beacon-light  burns  free, 
Of  the  faith  we  share,  as  we  wander  there, 

On  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea. 

And  we'll  kneel  on  the  sands  while  the  stars  shine 
bright ; 

And  we'll  pray  that  we  each  may  be 
As  a  beacon-light  in  some  traveller's  night, 

On  the  shore  of  Life's  sounding  sea ; 
And  we'll  talk  of  the  land  where  the  angels  dwell, 

Of  the  home  where  we  long  to  be,  — 
Where  loved  ones  greet,  and  the  parted  meet, 

On  the  shore  of  Eternity's  sea. 

Ere  we  leave  the  spot  we  will  breathe  a  prayer,  — 

I  for  thee,  and  thou,  love,  for  me,  — 
That  our  love  may  endure  when  we  meet  no  more 

On  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea  ; 
And  as  home  we  turn  from  the  pebbly  beach, 

Where  we  oft  have  joyed  to  be, 
Our  hearts  will  be  light,  and  our  hopes  be  bright, 

On  the  shore  of  the  sounding  sea. 


VIOLETS. 


IN  that  parterre  toward  which  our  steps  are  tend 
ing, 

The  violets  never  die  : 

Let  us  with  joy  our  pilgrim  way  be  wending, 
To  greet  their  bloom  on  high. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  205 

Sweet  friend !  my  heart's  best  thanks  to  thee   are 
given 

For  every  violet  blue  : 
Sweet  early  blooms !  how  oft  they  speak  of  heaven, 

And  all  things  fair  and  true  ! 

They  tell  of  One  whose  promise  is  unfailing : 

Spring-time  hath  surely  come  ; 
So,  Life's  long  winter  o'er,  we  shall  be  hailing, 

As  promised,  heaven's  glad  bloom. 

Type  of  the  spirit  from  the  rough  world  shrinking, 

Hiding  in  lowly  bed, 
The  dews  of  heaven  with  a  glad  heart  drinking, 

Though  bowed  the  reverent  head. 

How  —  more  than  a  royal  giver  !  —  is  it  spending 

Its  fragrance  on  the  air, 
Asking  no  homage,  but  its  good-will  sending 

Like  sunshine  everywhere. 

Thank  God  for  violets  with  their  blue-eyed  beauty, 

Fair  heralds  of  the  spring  ! 
Would  that,  like  theirs,  it  might  be  our  high  duty 

Glad  tidings  thus  to  bring ! 


THE    AUTUMN   RAIN. 


LIST  !  the  autumn  rain  is  falling, 
Pattering  on  the  withered  leaves, 
On  the  brilliant  autumn  blossoms, 
On  the  farmer's  golden  sheaves. 


206  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Summer's  glorious  reign  is  over  ; 

Now  the  storm-clouds  come  again  : 
Cold  and  sad,  forlorn  and  dreary, 

Sounds  once  more  the  autumn  rain. 

On  the  new-made  graves  'tis  falling,  — 

Heavy  drops,  so  chill  and  sad ! 
Changed  indeed  from  showers  of  spring-time, 

Heralding  the  blossoms  glad. 
Dreary  days  of  leaf-strewn  pathways  ! 

Quickly  have  you  come  again : 
Aching  hearts  can  never  welcome, 

Chill  and  drear,  the  autumn  rain. 

Close  the  door,  and  lift  the  curtains  ; 

Light  anew  the  parlor  fire  : 
Round  those  graves  our  spirits  linger, 

And  we  scarce  can  lift  them  higher. 
Ope  the  Book,  the  best,  the  dearest ; 

Read  each  precious  promise  o'er ; 
Think !  no  autumn  rain  is  falling 

On  the  bright  and  cloudless  shore. 

There  the  dear  ones  wait  our  coming  ; 

There  the  blossoms  fadeless  blow ; 
There  the  streams  of  joy  celestial 

From  unfailing  fountains  flow  ; 
There  anew  the  links  are  woven 

Of  Love's  bright  eternal  chain  ; 
There  the  griefs  of  earth  are  over, 

With  the  dreary  autumn  rain. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  207 


CHARLOTTE     BRONTE    READING    THE 
BIBLE. 


"  Last  Sunday,  I  took  up  my  Bible  in  a  gloomy  state  of  mind.  I  began  to 
read.  A  feeling  stole  over  me  such  as  I  have  not  known  for  long  years,  — 
a  sweet,  placid  sensation,  like  those  I  remember  which  used  to  visit  me 
when  I  was  a  little  child,  and,  on  Sunday  evenings  in  summer,  stood  by  the 
open  window,  reading  the  life  of  a  certain  French  nobleman,  who  attained  a 
purer  and  higher  degree  of  sanctity  than  has  been  known  since  the  days  of 
the  early  martyrs."  —  Memoirs  of  Charlotte  Bronte. 


TT1WAS    holy  time:    the   winter    sun    gleamed 

JL  coldly  from  the  skies, 

And  in  the  heart  few  summer  thoughts  could  easily 

arise. 
The  birds  were  wanting  from  the  groves  the  list'ning 

ear  to  charm  ; 
The  chilly  atmosphere  almost  forbade  the  heart  to 

warm. 
And,  in  this  cold  and  dreary  time,  a  maiden  'gan  to 

read, 
Her  heart  depressed,  her  soul  benumbed,  and  none 

her  state  to  heed. 
But,  from  on  high,  a  Father  saw  ;  his  book  was  in  her 

hand, 
And  swiftly  o'er  her  soul  he  sent  airs  from  the  better 

land : 
They  wafted  peace  and  joy  to  her  the  motherless 

and  lone, 
And  cheered  her  with  an  influence  which  she  had 

seldom  known. 


208  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Long  years  had  passed  since  she  had  breathed  that 
aroma  sublime : 

It  brought  back  vanished  memories  of  hours  in  sum 
mer  time, 

When,  as  a  child,  she   read   a   book  by   casement 
opened  wide ; 

And  sweet,  bright  visions  cheered  her  soul  at  sab 
bath  eventide. 

What  book  was  that  whose  pages  had  a  charm  for 
childhood's  hour  ? 

'Twas  e'en  a  record  of  a  life  so  holy,  that  its  power 

Was  felt  in  plastic  childhood's  time  as  if  a  magi's 
rod, 

And  proved  the  channel  through  which  came  the  glo 
rious  peace  of  God : 

So  now,  as  reading  in  the  book,  which,  more  than  all 
beside, 

Tells  how  the  holy-hearted  have  for  others  lived  and 
died, 

Those  fragrant  zephyrs,  from  the  land  where  flower 
ets  never  fade, 

Around  her  spirit,  as  of  yore,  in  welcome  sweetness 
played. 

Nor  can  we  wonder ;  for  the  book  was  redolent  of 
heaven, 

With  its  story  of  the  Crucified,  through  whom  are 
sins  forgiven  ; 

With  its  record  of  the  wondrous  works  our  God  on 
earth  hath  wrought, 

And  its  revelations  of  the  land  with  radiant  glory 
fraught. 

Oh!  when  our  hearts,  with  gloom  o'ercast,  shrink 
from  the  winter  sky, 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  209 

And  oft  we  wish  Hope's  summer  day  could  evermore 
be  nigh, 

How  like  dear,  soothing  angels  come  those  promises 
sublime 

Which  speak  of  happier  days  for  us,  beyond  the 
bounds  of  Time  ! 

Well  might  the  gifted  lady  oft  its  holy  pages  read, 

And  gather  strength  and  hope  and  joy  for  her  deep 
spirit-need : 

For  to  the  soul  which  seeketh  light  from  its  rich,  va 
ried  lore 

Shall  calm  and  holy  peace  and  joy  be  given  evermore  ; 

And  whether  read  in  winter's  cold,  or  'mid  the  sum 
mer's  heat, 

Will  bear  to  all  who  read  in  faith  an  influence  pure 
and  sweet. 


DEATH   IN   THE    STATE    HOUSE.* 


"  Leaves  have  their  time  to  fall, 
And  flowers  to  wither  in  the  north  wind's  breath, 

And  stars  to  set ;  but  all, 
Thou  hast  all  seasons  for  thine  own,  0  Death !  " 

MRS.  REMANS. 

AS  Indian  archer  in  the  Western  wilds 
Oft  sends  an  arrow  to  the  timid  deer, 
Who,  unsuspecting,  at  the  rippling  stream 

Quaffs  the  cold  water  with  no  thought  of  fear,  — 

*  Suggested  by  the  recent  death  of  Hon.  James  Clark  of  Boston,  who 
was  listening  to  a  debate  in  the  Hall  of  Representatives,  at  the  Massachusetts 
State  House,  at  the  time  of  his  decease. 


210  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

So  Death,  with  well-filled  quiver  at  his  back, 
And  bow  well  strung,  his  barbed  missive  sends 

When  least  the  victim  dreams  of  danger  near, 
And  sips  the  nectar  of  swift  hours  with  friends. 

At  home,  abroad,  on  sea,  on  land,  the  cry, 
"  Come  to  the  Spirit  Land  !  "  alike  is  heard  ; 

Nor  youth,  nor  age,  may  lightly  heed  the  call, 
Howe'er  that  voice  the  spirit  may  have  stirred. 

Within  the  halls  of  legislative  fame, 

One  noble  patriot  met  the  conqueror,  Death  ; 

That  "  old  man  eloquent,"  *  whose  utterance  true 
Expressed  content  with  his  expiring  breath. 

And  now  within  the  stately,  massive  walls 
Of  that  fair  structure,  Massachusetts'  pride  ! 

Beneath  that  dome,  the  Tri-mount  City's  crown, 
With  sudden  summons  hath  a  good  man  died. 

But  shall  these  halls  to  us  be  filled  with  gloom, 
Since  through  them  Death  may  glide,  unheard,  un 
seen, 

And  proveth  thus  all  places,  scenes,  and  times 
Are  his  for  reaping,  his  for  triumphing  ? 

Oh,  no !  the  place  is  hallowed  where  he  treads 
Who  breaks  the  bonds  which  bind  a  soul  to  earth. 

That  terrene  spot  henceforth  is  glorified 

From  whence  a  spirit  had  its  heavenly  birth. 


*  Hon.  John  Quincy  Adams  died  in  the  Capitol  at  Washington.    His  last 
words  were,  "  This  is  the  last  of  earth:  I  am  content." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  211 

Death  in  the  State  House  !     If  an  archer  he, 
Who  strikes  the  unsuspecting  with  his  dart, 

Not  less  a  liberator  is  the  power 

Which  opes  the  pearly  gates  to  each  true  heart. 

Death  in  the  State  House  !    Let  the  brave  hearts  left 
To  fight  the  battles  still  of  human  life 

Be  warned  by  this  event  to  gird  anew 
Their  spirit-armor  for  the  moral  strife. 

So  whether  called  from  earth  'mid  home's  sweet  rest, 
Or  'mid  the  whirl  of  business  or  its  care, 

His  coming  shall  be  welcome,  who  shall  lift 

The  veil  which  hides  the  bliss  we  long  to  share. 


THE    CHILD'S    MESSAGE. 


[It  is  stated  by  some  writer,  that  a  little  girl  was  present  at  the  funeral  of 
a  young  companion.  She  had  never  looked  upon  a  lifeless  body.  The  cof 
fin  was  surrounded  with  flowers  tastefully  arrayed,  and  the  sleeping  infant 
within  looked  lovely  as  if  in  slumber.  The  little  girl,  who  was  lifted  up  to 
look  at  it,  suddenly  leaned  over,  kissed  the  cheek  of  the  sleeper,  whispering 
in  childish  accents,  "  Give  my  love  to  God."  This  little  incident  is  but 
paraphrased  in  the  following  lines :  — ] 


BY  parental  kindness  sheltered, 
Ne'er  the  little  child  had  seen 
One  whose  form  of  lifeless  beauty 

Wore  Death's  sad  and  solemn  mien  ; 
Till  a  youthful,  loved  companion 

Soared  to  seek  an  angel's  home, 
And  the  little  girl  was  lifted 
To  behold  her  lifeless  form. 


212  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Then  the  child,  no  death-scene  fearing, 

Gazed  upon  the  flowers  around, 
Wondering  that  from  lips  so  lovely 

Came  no  pleasant,  wonted  sound  ; 
Bent  she  o'er  the  tiny  coffin,  — 

Sunshine  all  her  face  abroad,  — 
Kissed  the  cheek  of  marble  coldness, 

Whispering,  "  Give  my  love  to  God ! " 

Thus,  if  childlike  each  in  spirit, 

We  in  childlike  trust  may  bend 
O'er  the  couch  where  Death  is  calling 

Some  beloved  and  cherished  friend ; 
And,  while  Faith's  unclouded  vision 

Sees  them  soar  to  heavenly  rest, 
Send,  as  if  to  far-off  country, 

Loving  message  to  the  blest. 


THE  CHILDREN'S   CONCERT. 


I  SAW  them  in  their  snowy  robes,  with  wreaths 
of  evergreen 
Around  each   youthful   brow  intwined,  a   rare    and 

lovely  scene  ; 
While  o'er  their  heads  the  flaming  arch  reminded  of 

the  throne, 

With  glorious  rainbow  round  about,  where  Jesus  sits 
alone. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  213 

Around,  above,  festooned  or  free,  our  country's  flag 

appeared, 
And  brilliant  flowers  and  garlands  green  the  vision 

sweetly  cheered. 

I  saw  it  all,  a  fairy  scene  !    I  heard  the  organ's  swell ; 
And  silvery  voices  sounded  forth,  clear  as  a  chiming 

bell. 
I  heard  the  song  of  praise  to  Him  who  sits  enthroned 

on  high, 
And  thought  the  children  looked  as  if  but  just  from 

yonder  sky. 
"  The  Dear  Old  Flag  "  I  heard  them  sing,  and  saw 

their  banners  wave, 
While  suddenly  our  ensign  dropped  above  the   fair 

and  brave  ; 
And  while   from  many  an   eye    the   tear  unbidden 

started  there, 
Quick  from  my  spirit  bounded  forth  the  utterance  of 

prayer. 

"  O  God !  preserve  our  country  in  this  her  trial- 
time, 

And  bid  the  bell  of  Liberty  ring  out  its  loudest 
chime, 

Till  North  and  South  and  East  and  West  in  right 
eousness  agree, 

And  morning's  sun  and  evening's  stars  shine  only  on 
the  free. 

Then  will  our  flag,  now  truly  loved,  be  dearer  than 
before, 

And,  in  its  beauty,  wave  above  a  glad  and  peaceful 
shore." 


214  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  evening  sped,  the  music  ceased,  the   children 

passed  away  ; 
But  in  full  many  a  listener's  heart  the  echoes  sweet 

will  stay, 
And  many  a  fervent  prayer  ascend,  that  to  each  child 

be  given 
A  place  amid  the  angel-choirs  that  sing  the  songs  of 

heaven. 


FLOWERS. 


I)  RIGHT  emanations  of  creative  will, 
I  J  How  oft  with  pleasure  ye  my  bosom  fill ! 
How  oft  to  thoughts  sublime  ye  call  my  soul, 
While  wayward  fancy  bends  to  your  control ! 

Ye  speak  of  friends,  the  distant  and  the  dear, 
And  bid  sweet  memories  my  spirit  cheer ; 
Ye  call  to  mind  the  souls  that  soared  away 
To  God's  own  garden  in  Life's  early  day. 

As  fragrant  as  your  perfume  now  to  me 

Come  memories  o'er  Life's  rapid,  changeful  sea, 

When,  with  the  lovers  of  your  beauty  rare, 

In  youth's  gay  scenes  my  soul  had  joyous  share. 

Ye  glorious  teachers  of  high  truths  divine, 
Who  speak  of  love,  and  bid  no  soul  repine, 
As  to  the  stars,  to  you,  "  earth's  stars,"  is  given 
A  power  to  win  the  human  soul  to  heaven. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  215 

While  praises  for  God's  gifts  to  man  ascend, 
May  praise  with  your  uprising  incense  blend, 
And  man  rejoice  that  flowers  his  path  may  strew, 
Till  ended  is  the  race  begun  below. 

While  heavenly  breezes  fan  the  ransomed  brow, 
While  souls  redeemed  before  their  Saviour  bow, 
Amid  archangel  songs  and  seraph  lays, 
For  flowers  on  earth  may  mortals  offer  praise  ! 


NIAGARA. 


AWE-STRUCK  I  stand 
Beside  this  avalanche  of  waves,  and  hear 
The  voice  of  God  from  out  these  watery  depths. 
Emotion-full,  my  soul  in  vain  essays 
To  speak  the  thoughts  that  by  this  scene  have  birth. 
Hark  !  to  the  voice  of  many  waters  here  : 
Like  that  great  voice  in  Patmos  heard  by  John, 
It  speaks  of  power,  resistless  energy, 
And  mighty  purpose  unconfined  by  man. 
To  me  it  speaks  of  God's  almighty  love, 
Forever  surging  round  the  human  soul : 
The  rocks  of  sin,  the  shoals  of  ignorance, 
But  bid  those  waves  of  love  in  tumult  rise, 
In  rapids  like  old  ocean's  storm-waves,  or,  as  here, 
In  one  vast  water-sheet,  the  cataract's  plunge. 
Thus  shall  it  flow  till  time  shall  be  no  more, 
And  every  soul  is  borne  upon  its  waves, 
All  cleansed  by  its  pure  waters,  to  the  land 
Where,  joyful,  they  shall  all  be  moored  at  last. 


216  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


GOSPEL   CONSOLATION. 


"  Only  with  silence  as  a  benediction 

God's  angels  come, 
When  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  affliction 

The  soul  sits  dumb." 

WHITTIEE. 


HOW  hard  to  walk  in  sorrow's  echoing  chambers, 
E'en  with  uncovered  feet ! 
How  hard  to  speak  amid  severe  affliction 
E'en  words  of  comfort  sweet ! 

What  can  we  say  when  bitter  tears  are  falling 

From  a  fond  mother's  eyes, 
Since  one  whose  baby-form  lay  in  her  bosom 

Now  in  the  deep  sea  lies  ? 

No  words  can  give  that  wrung  heart  consolation 

Save  His  of  old  who  spake 
To  the  sad  sister  of  his  friend  departed,  — 

"  Thy  brother  shall  awake." 

This  thought,  then,  only,  to  thee  do  I  offer,  — 

A  balm  for  thy  torn  heart,  — 
Our  loved  ones  die  not,  when,  the  body  sleeping, 

Their  souls  to  new  life  start. 

They  live  whom  now  we  mourn,  —  aye,  live  more 
truly 

Than  we  who  here  may  sing, 
Far  from  our  Father's  house,  the  songs  of  Zion, 

With  drooping,  folded  wing. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  217 

There  comes  a  day,  —  my  spirit  hails  its  dawning,  — 

When,  fetterless  and  free, 
Our  so  ills  shall  grasp  the  idea  of  the  mansion 

Where  all  God's  children  be. 

In  God's  great  hand  each  child  of  earth  is  lying : 

He  loveth  every  soul. 
Christ  died  for  all ;  and,  o'er  the  heights  of  glory, 

Eternal  anthems  roll 

From  souls  redeemed  by  him  who  hears  to  answer 
Each  fervent,  faith-breathed  prayer ; 

And  we  may  hope  to  meet,  through  grace  and  mercy, 
All,  all,  our  loved  ones  there. 


THOUGHTS  AFTER  A  SNOW-STORM. 


I  DO  not  love  the  snow :  it  softly  falls 
Like  an  angelic  footstep  on  our  paths, 

But  it  divideth  me 

From  those  I  love  ;  and,  though  its  starry  flakes 
Of  geometric  beauty  charm  my  eye, 
I  wish  it  soon  away. 

Sweet  are  the  airs  of  spring :  the  warm,  bright  days, 
So  welcome  to  the  winter-wearied  hearts, 

Are  ever  hailed  by  me, 

The  herald  of  the  long,  bright  summer  hours, 
With  floral  loveliness  and  song  of  birds, 

And  leafy  shrub  and  tree. 


218  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  oh,  how  welcome  to  this  heart  of  mine 
The  lingering  glory  of  the  autumn  days ! 

When  earth  seems  newly  clad 
In  robes  of  royalty  ;  and  on  our  paths 
The  golden-rod  and  aster  speak  of  heaven, 

And  all  things  pure  and  glad. 

And  these  bright  hours,  how  do  they  cheer  the  heart 
Amid  Life's  many  cares  and  burdens  great ! 

How  speak  they  oft  to  me 
Of  other  years,  in  God's  great  future  held, 
Sweet  foretaste  of  some  better  days  to  come, 

The  Eden  yet  to  be  ! 

But  thou,  O  Father  of  the  human  soul ! 
The  green  earth  lies  beneath  thy  plastic  hand, 

And  the  pure,  feathery  snow, 
Falling  all  softly  through  the  wintry  day, 
Obeys  thy  high  behests,  as  do  the  flowers 

That  on  earth's  carpet  glow. 

Man  must  breast  storm,  or  be  a  pygmy  still ; 
And  only  puny  souls  that  would  not  grow 

Will  sigh  when  called  to  bear 
Or  buffet :  they  who  would  be  grand 
And  noble  pillars  in  thy  temple  fair 

Must  joy  and  sorrow  share,  — 

Must  bear  the  cross  the  glorious  crown  to  win ; 
Must  tread  the  thorny  path  to  gather  blossoms  sweet 

At  last  in  Eden's  bowers  ; 

And  looking  upward  through  the  blinding  snow, 
Or  leaping  o'er  its  barricades  in  faith, 

Wait  for  the  golden  hours. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  219 

So  do  I  wait :  O  soul  of  mine,  be  still  I 
Life  hath  its  promise  of  fruition  sweet, 

When,  in  God's  clearer  sight, 
The  fulness  of  our  time  shall  fully  come, 
And  Love  shall  conquer,  and  the  tyrant  wrong 

Shall  be  subdued  by  right. 


EAGLE  ROCK  AND  MANCHESTER  BEACH. 


[Suggested  by  a  picture  of  the  sea-shore  at  Manchester,  Mass.,  by  George 
Southward.] 


~T~   IKE  a  strong  soul  it  stands,  while,  wildly  foaming, 
1  J         The  billows  dash  around, 
Till  on  the  sandy  beach  they  break  majestic, 
With  loud  and  solemn  sound. 

Well  for  Columbia's  bird  may  others  name  it, 

Whose  eyrie  is  on  high : 
For  me  it  is  the  emblem  of  a  spirit 

Strengthened  to  do  or  die. 

And,  as  I  gaze  upon  the  glowing  canvas, 

Mine  heart  exults  to  know 
Such  types  of  Nature's  grand  and  solemn  lessons 

The  artist  oft  may  show. 

For  he  who  paints  the  sunset's  glowing  amber 

Or  gorgeous  crimson  hue, 
To  lift  the  heart  towards  the  Celestial  City, 

Its  radiance  to  show,  — 


220  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

He  preaches  well  as  he  who  from  the  pulpit 

Proclaims  salvation  free. 
God's  altars  need  such  ministers ;  for  Nature 

Speaketh,  O  Christ !  of  thee. 

Now,  by  sweet  contrast,  scenes  like  this  before  me 

Tell  of  that  home  so  blest, 
When  hushed  to  peace,  as  waves  of  Galilee, 

No  wave  shall  rear  its  crest. 

And  that  strong  soul,  that,  like  a  rock  unshaken, 

Upon  the  storms  looked  down, 
Calm  amid  raging  billows  of  affliction, 

Shall  wear  a  conqueror's  crown. 

God  whom  I  serve  !  I  thank  thee  for  the  lesson 

The  artist  here  hath  given  : 
Help  me  to  heed  it  amid  earth's  commotions, 

Till  I  find  rest  in  heaven. 


ELI  BEN  ISRAEL. 


ELI  BEN  ISRAEL,  weary  with  his  toil, 
And  heavy-hearted  from  continual  grief, 
One  evening  bowed  beneath  a  stately  palm, 
And,  weeping,  prayed  to  Yahveh  for  relief. 

His  words  were  simple,  but  his  prayers  sincere, 
And  offered  in  the  faith  that  wavers  ne'er ; 

So,  like  an  angel,  from  the  earth  it  sped, 

Nor  paused  its  pinion  till  it  reached  God's  ear. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  221 

The  tropic  sun  went  swiftly  down  the  west ; 

And,  as  the  shadows  hastened  o'er  the  plain, 
Sweet  was  the  slumber  weary  Eli  found, 

While  o'er  him  hung  *  night's  queen  with  starry 
train. 

Then  came  a  vision  to  the  sleeper's  gaze, 
A  dream  of  comfort  to  his  burdened  soul : 

He  saw  the  end  of  all  his  toil  on  earth, 

And  read  his  name  on  Life's  illumined  scroll. 

A  fairer  city  than  Jerusalem 

Before  his  eyes  in  Orient  splendor  stood ; 
And  angels,  clad  like  rays  of  morning  light, 

Smiled  on  him  as  they  sang  the  praise  of  God. 

A  voice  whose  clarion  tones  were  sweet  and  glad 
Then  spake  to  him,  "  Oh,  wait  in  patience  still ! 

The  soul  that  would  enjoy  supernal  bliss 

Must  bravely  do,  and  calmly  bear  God's  will. 

Thy  toil  on  earth  will  fit  thee  for  thy  rest, 

Thy  suffering  purge  thy  heart  from  all  its  dross : 

Lo  !  angels  walk  unseen  with  every  soul 

Which  seeks  eternal  gain  through  earthly  loss." 

*  "  An  Oriental  sky  has  a  peculiarity  which  adds  very  much  to  its  impres 
sive  appearance.  With  us,  the  stars  seem  to  adhere  to  the  face  of  the 
heavens :  they  form  the  most  distant  objects  within  the  range  of  vision ; 
they  appear  to  be  set  in  a  groundwork  of  thick  darkness,  beyond  which  the 
eye  does  not  penetrate.  Unlike  thU  is  the  canopy  which  night  spreads  over 
the  traveller  in  Eastern  climes.  The  stars  there  seem  to  hang  like  burning 
lamps,  midway  between  heaven  and  earth ;  the  pure  atmosphere  enables  us 
to  see  a  deep  expanse  of  blue  ether  lying  far  beyond  them.  The  hemisphere 
above  us  glows  and  sparkles  with  innumerable  fires,  that  appear  as  if  kept 
burning  in  their  position  by  an  immediate  act  of  the  Omnipotent,  instead 
of  resting  on  a  frame-work  whch  subserves  the  illusion  of  seeming  to  give 
them  their  support."  —  Prof.  Uadcett's  Illustrations  of  Scripture. 


222  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

He  woke  !  —  glad  Eli !  —  with  his  soul  refreshed, 
And  trod  his  weary  way  with  hopeful  heart ; 

And,  when  his  pitying  neighbor  sighed  for  him, 
Thanked  God  for  toil's  rough  file  and  sorrow's  dart. 

And  ever  in  his  prayer  these  words  appeared, 
Till  rest  was  gained  and  joy  eternal  won, 

"  O  mighty  leader  of  thy  chosen  race, 

Here,  as  on  high,  let  all  thy  will  be  done  ! " 


THE  SORROWFUL  TEN  THOUSAND. 


"Few  ate  anything  that  evening,  few  made  fires,  and  many  that  night 
never  came  to  their  quarter,  but  laid  themselves  down,  every  man  in  the 
place  where  he  happened  to  be,  unable  to  sleep  through  sorrow,  and  a  long 
ing  for  their  country,  their  parents,  their  wives  and  children,  whom  they 
never  expected  to  see  again.  In  this  disposition  of  mind  they  all  lay  down 
to  rest."  —  Xenopium's  Anabasis. 


EOUND  the.  band  of  warriors  weary, 
Night's  star-spangled  curtains  close  ; 
And,  while  evening  zephyrs  whisper, 

Seek  the  Grecians  their  repose  : 
But  the  sweet,  restoring  angel,* 

Twin  to  one  we  surname  "  Death," 
Will  not  near  them  fold  his  pinions, 
Woo  them  with  his  balmly  breath. 

Deep  within  each  warrior's  bosom 

Was  a  fount  of  sacred  love, 
Welling  up  for  far-off  dear  ones, 

Faithful  as  the  tender  dove. 

*  "  Tired  nature's  sweet  restorer,  balmy  sleep."  —  Young. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  223 

Longed  they  for  their  native  country, 

As  chained  eagles  to  be  free  ; 
And  they  sighed  for  home's  rich  blessings, 

As  the  death-doomed  sigh  to  flee. 

With  his  warrior  friends  reclining, 

Mused  the  "  Bee  of  Greece  "  a  while, 
Till  his  dreams  took  form  in  action, 

And  he  rose  to  bid  them  smile. 
With  his  eloquence  unrivalled, 

Spake  to  them  the  "Athenian  Muse," 
Till  his  words  the  dense  clouds  lifted, 

And  with  cheerful  hearts  they  rose. 

Then  through  dangers  dire  he  led  them, 

Toward  the  home  they  longed  to  see, 
Writing  on  their  banners  "  Safety," 

Synonyme  of  "  Victory  ;  " 
Till  once  more,  amid  their  dear  ones, 

Sinking  swift  to  calm  repose, 
They  with  grateful  hearts  remembered 

How  he  cheered  their  night  of  woes. 

So,  while  Life's  fierce  conflicts  waging, 

Pausing  'mid  the  din  of  strife, 
Sleep  forsakes  our  path,  and,  sighing, 

Long  we  for  a  better  life, 
Then,  with  eloquence  supernal,  — 

Ne'er  by  Xenophon  possessed,  — 
Speaks  the  world's  exemplar  Saviour, 

"  Come  to  me  and  find  your  rest." 


224  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Weary,  yearning,  fainting  spirits, 

Ere  in  death  your  eyes  shall  close, 
Follow  Him  through  all  earth's  dangers 

He  will  lead  to  sweet  repose. 
As  you  wave  the  palms  of  victory 

On  the  brighter,  better  shore, 
You  will  shout,  with -grateful  spirits, 

"  Safe  from  sin  forevermore  !  " 

Not  alone  for  glorious  victory 

Over  death  and  grief  and  pain  ; 
But  for  safety  from  the  tempter 

Shall  you  sing  with  joy  again  ; 
And  your  Leader's  wisdom  lauding, 

Strike  your  harp  with  louder  tone, 
Singing,  "  Praise  to  Jesus  ever : 

We  are  saved  through  him  alone  !  " 


THE  LAST  DAY  OF  WINTER. 


[Written  on  the  last  day  of  February.] 


HARK  !  the  voice  of  Boreas  shouteth 
From  the  mountains  to  the  sea, 
And  the  snowy  mantle  falleth 

From  us,  brown  earth,  hiding  thee. 
Sifting  through  each  tiny  crevice, 

Comes  the  pure,  unsullied  snow, 
Saying,  that,  with  February, 
Stormy  winter  will  not  go. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  225 

Fast  upon  the  tossing  ocean 

Fall  the  snow-flakes  all  the  day, 
Hiding  rocky  cape  and  island 

From  my  wistful  gaze  that  way. 
Night  comes  on ;  and  Frost,  the  artist, 

Decks  my  window-pane  anew, 
Shutting  out  my  friends  and  neighbors 

From  my  yet  more  wishful  view. 

Boreas  shouts  !  and  fast  he  worketh, 

Heaping  up  the  driven  snow, 
Till  my  doorways  are  blockaded, 

And  the  paths  no  foot  can  know. 
By  the  fire  we  gladly  gather ; 

For  the  poor  we  breathe  a  prayer ; 
Pointing  up  with  Faith's  true  finger, 

Saying,  "  There's  no  whiter  there !  " 

God  be  praised !  no  cruel  winter 

In  the  land  to  which  we  go ; 
No  rude  winds  so  drear  and  chilling, 

No  more  friend-dividing  snow  : 
God  be  praised,  while  here  we  linger, 

For  the  snow,  the  hail,  the  rain  ; 
All  are  parts  of  his  great  purpose, 

He  will  make  each  riddle  plain. 

But  across  the  stormy  waters, 

In  "  our  home  beyond  the  tide," 
There  shall  be  no  dreary  winter: 

Love  shall  in  all  hearts  abide, 
Making  summer,  making  music, 

Making  joy  for  earth-worn  souls, 

15 


226  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

While  upon  the  gentle  zephyrs 
Sweet  the  eternal  anthem  rolls. 

Gladly  press  I  onward,  upward, 

Cheerful,  counting  every  day, 
Welcoming  the  coming  spring-time, 

Making  bright  mine  earthly  way  ; 
But  beyond  it  hourly  looking 

To  the  everlasting  hills, 
Blooming  in  eternal  summer, 

Faith  with  joy  my  spirit  fills. 

Soon  for  me  will  close  Life's  winter, 

Soon  the  morning  glory  rise  ; 
Lo !  the  roseate  hue  of  dawning 

Flushes  now  the  eastern  skies. 
Soon  this  earth-life's  dreary  winter 

I  shall  recognize  no  more  : 
Oh,  the  bliss  of  that  experience, — 

Summer  on  the  shining  shore  ! 


PARTING   WORDS. 


r  I  THOSE  parting  words  !  they  fell  upon  our  ears 
_1_      Like  the  far  sounding  of  a  solemn  knell, 
And  linger  now  as  lingers  in  the  vale 

The  sweet-toned  echoes  of  the  vesper-bell. 

Those  parting  words !  they  faded  on  our  ears 
As  fade  the  sunset  hues  of  parting  day, 

Yet  linger  in  our  hearts  as  still  remains 
The  holy  presence  of  the  twilight  ray. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  227 

Those  parting  words  !  we  clasp  them  to  our  hearts, 
As  clasps  a  mother  her  beloved  child : 

Our  memories  to  each  precious  sentence  cling, 
As  child  to  parent  when  the  storm  is  wild. 

Those  parting  words  remind  of  yon  bright  heaven, 
As  speaks  the  sea-shell  of  the  distant  main, 

Where  all  who  clasped  our  hand  with  parting  words 
Shall  be  restored  in  bliss  to  us  again. 

Those  parting  words  shall  in  our  memories  sound, 
As  sounds  for  miles  Niagara's  mighty  roar, 

And  blend  their  cadence  with  the  welcomes  sweet 
Which  yet  shall  greet  us  from  the  heavenly  shore. 

Then  sound  the  paean  song  of  holy  triumph  ; 

For  parting  words  shall  yet  in  welcomes  end, 
As  morning  moonlight  and  the  gleam  of  stars 

Oft  with  auroral  brightness  calmlv  blend. 


TWILIGHT   ON    BEVERLY    SHORE. 


[Written  on  seeing  a  picture,  by  J.  A.  Suydam,  in  the  Boston  Athenaeum, 
entitled  "  Twilight  on  the  Beverly  Shove."] 


I  HAVE  stood  on  the  brow  of  a  cloud-capped  hill 
When  the  god  of  day  passed  on, 
And  have  watched  with  joy  while  the  daylight  died, 
And  the  stars  of  night  were  born  ; 


228  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  I  love  the  hour  when  the  eve  comes  on, 

Though  the  glory  of  sunset  is  o'er : 
But  few  are  the  twilights  so  sweet  to  my  soul 

As  the  twilight  on  Beverly  Shore. 

I  have  rocked  on  the  deep  when  the  billows  slept, 

And  the  shadows  of  evening  fell 
O'er  the  wide,  wide  waste  of  the  waters  blue, 

Where  is  heard  no  vesper  bell ; 
And  my  heart  rejoiced  in  the  calm,  sweet  look 

Which  the  star-gemmed  waves  then  wore : 
But  yet  not  so  dear  is  that  long-cherished  scene 

As  the  twilight  on  Beverly  Shore. 

'Twas  the  close  of  a  day  when  the  many  chimes, 

And  the  deep-mouthed  cannon's  roar, 
Had  ceased  till  another  "  Fourth  "  should  dawn, 

That  I  stood  near  the  Beverly  Shore. 
Far  off  in  the  shadow  the  islands  rest, 

And  the  beacon  gleams  once  more, 
As  Memory  presents  the  sweet  scene  to  my  mind 

Of  that  twilight  on  Beverly  Shore. 

Sweet  friend,  who  wert  with  me  in  that  blissful  hour, 

Dear  children,  then  gathered  around, 
Your  presence  endeared  the  bright  vision  to  me, 

And  stamped  the  spot  my  hallowed  ground  ! 
Then  gladly  I  hailed  what  the  artist  achieved, 

Preserving  that  scene  evermore, 
And  welcomed  the  picture  fond  Memory  could  claim, 

As  "  Twilight  on  Beverly  Shore." 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  229 


A  PROPHECY. 


WITH  reverent  hand  we  lift  Truth's  glorious 
banner, 

And  fealty  vow 

To  all  that  lifts  our  sex  to  power  and  honor 
In  this  grand  Now 

The  time  has  fled  when  weakness  meant  but  woman : 

The  hour  has  come 
When  the  divine  transcends  in  her  the  human ; 

And  'tis  her  doom, 

Her  glorious  destiny,  to  guide  this  nation 

Far  from  its  sin, 
Up  to  the  heights  of  its  serene  salvation, 

Its  crown  to  win 

Among  the  people  that  are  known  to  story 

And  classic  song. 
Then  shall  no  nation  be  so  filled  with  glory, 

And  none  so  strong, 

As  this  republic,  noble,  and  far-str etching 

From  sea  to  sea  ; 
While  its  grand  influence  o'er  the  waters  reaching 

Bids  all  be  free. 

Strike,  then,  the  sounding  cymbals  in  this  hour ! 

Peal  forth  a  blast, 
Waking  dead  nations  to  the  thought  of  power 

For  good  to  last ! 


230  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

When  woman  in  the  state  beside  her  brother 

May  nobly  toil, 
This  land  shall  take  a  place  o'er  every  other, 

And  on  its  soil 

The  grandest  temple  ever  reared  to  Freedom 

In  peace  shall  rise  ; 
Its  tower  of  strength,  the  truth  that  all  are  equal 

Beneath  the  skies. 

And  as  no  bond  nor  free  are  known  among  us 

Since  Lincoln  wrote  ; 
So  neither  male  nor  female  shall  be  counted 

When  freemen  vote. 

God  speed  the  hour  when  they  who've  battled  bravely 

Shall  grandly  win, 
And  women,  when  the  votes  here  are  numbered, 

Be  counted  in ! 

Then  shall  be  oped  the  glorious  gates  of  morning 

For  all  our  race ; 
And  Truth's  fair  jewel  every  brow  adorning, 

And  shall  have  place 

To  work  for  God  in  working  for  each  other, 

And  side  by  side, 
With  equal  privilege  and  equal  honor, 

In  peace  t'  abide. 

We  will  not  faint,  then,  on  this  field  of  freedom, 

But  still  contend, 
With  all  the  power  God  gives  each  true  reformer, 

Until  the  end. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  231 

And  then  we'll  join  the  loud  and  glad  hosanna 

The  earth  shall  sing, 
"When  Right  and  Might  enlist  beneath  one  banner, 

And  Truth  is  king. 


BYRON. 


BYRON  the  titled !  not  of  him  I  sing 
Who  wore  the  coronet  with  aching  brow : 
Byron  the  bard  alone  my  muse  inspires  ; 
His  genius  only  bids  my  spirit  bow. 

Impetuous  Byron  !     Like  a  torrent  poured 

His  glowing  words  along  the  emblazoned  page, 

As,  like  an  Arab  steed  o'er  desert  sands, 

With  fiery  haste  he  passed  from  youth  to  age. 

Alas  !  that  verse  like  his,  Avhich  charms  the  heart, 
And  like  sweet  music  fascinates  the  soul, 

The  lustre  of  a  snow-white  pureness  needs, 
The  virtuous  mind  serenely  to  control. 

Byron  the  poet  on  Parnassus  stands, 

His  regal  brow  with  early  laurels  crowned : 

Where  stands  the  man?     Alas,  if  on  Mount  Zion 
The  soul  unprisoned  ne'er  hath  been  renowned ! 

Oh  that  his  heart  had  bowed,  in  youth's  bright  hour 
Or  fame-wreathed  manhood,  to  the  law  divine, 

That  not  alone  among  the  bards  of  earth 
His  laurelled  coronet  might  ever  shine ! 


232  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Too  late  ?     In  God's  firm  hand  the  scales  abide  ; 

We  leave  him  to  the  Judge  who  cannot  err, 
But  sigh  to  think  the  poet  we  have  loved 

Was  never  here,  through  Christ,  a  conqueror. 

Then,  loving,  grieving,  read  "  Childe  Harold  "  o'er, 
And  trace  the  footsteps  of  a  royal  mind, 

And  wish  that  he  in  Christian  faith  had  bowed, 
And  known  the  luxury  of  a  will  resigned. 

1864. 


THE  PALACE  AND  THE  ANGEL. 


[Read  at  a  meeting  of  the  "  Social  Readers,"  Nov.  28,  1864.] 


WE,  "  Social  Readers,"  meet  to-night, 
As  we  are  wont  to  meet, 
Nor  to  the  magic  circle  came 
With  slow,  unwilling  feet ; 
For  we  have  learned  to  love  the  band 
Who  pledge  to  wisdom  heart  and  hand. 

To  greet  our  president  *  we  all 
With  right  good  will  have  come, 

And  wish  her  every  joy  within 
Her  new  and  pleasant  home  : 

Here  may  she  peace  and  plenty  know  ! 

Here  may  her  soul  in  wisdom  grow  ! 

*  Miss  Emily  Ruggles. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  233 

Now  let  me  tell  in  simple  words 

A  dream  I  had  to-day. 
True  visions  come  at  midnight  hours  ; 

But  waking  dreams,  they  say, 
May  be  enjoyed  at  any  time, 
And  oft  a  record  find  in  rhyme. 

I  saw  a  mansion,  fairer  e'en 

Than  this  where  we  have  met : 
An  angel  with  serenest  air 

Gave  welcome  at  the  gate  ; 
And  soft  and  low  he  whispered,  "  See, 
God  has  been  guiding  thee  to  me  !  " 

I  entered  at  the  door ;  and  lo  ! 

Before  my  gladdened  eyes 
Appeared  the  forms  of  valued  friends, 

(I  gazed  in  sweet  surprise  !) 
The  "  Social  Readers  "  all  were  there, 
As  now  the  band  is  gathered  here. 

And  some  were  there  I  never  knew,  — 

Some  wisdom-loving  souls 
Who  left  our  circle  long  ago, 

And,  where  Life's  river  rolls, 
Had  waited  for  our  lingering  feet 
To  echo  on  the  golden  street. 

They  gathered  round  me  as  I  stood 

Anear  my  angel-guide, 
And  welcomed  me,  to  learn  with  them 

The  lessons  we  had  tried 
In  vain  to  study  while  on  earth, 
Where  wisdom-longings  had  their  birth. 


234  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

* 

On  every  brow  a  radiant  star 
Shone  in  that  wondrous  hour : 

My  spirit  felt  a  holier  joy 
Than  e'er  it  knew  before  ; 

And  from  my  eyes  a  veil  seemed  drawn, 

As  the  kind  angel  led  us  on. 

From  room  to  room  the  angel  passed ; 

We  followed,  learning  still. 
Smiles  told  how  willingly  we  all 

Obeyed  the  angel's  will. 
And  soon  we  learned  the  angel's  name  : 
'Twas  "  Progress;"  and  from  God  he  came. 

So  we  in  Wisdom's  palace  dwelt 
With  happy  hearts  the  while, 

And  sipped  the  nectar  only  found 
On  earth  by  weary  toil. 

All  gladly  by  the  angel  fed, 

And  strengthened  by  the  heavenly  bread. 

I  woke  :  and,  as  a  bubble  bright 

With  brilliant  rainbow  hues, 
My  vision  fled,  but  memory  caught 

Some  fragments  ;  and  I  muse 
To-night  on  what  the  dream  hath  taught, 
Which  seemed  with  joy  prophetic  fraught. 

One  lesson  only  now  I  tell : 
This,  —  that  there  comes  a  day 

When  all  who  wisdom  truly  seek 
Will  enter  wisdom's  way, 

And  at  her  palace-gate  will  stand, 
And  take  that  angel's  welcome  hand. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  2o5 

THE  GRECIAN  ATHLETE. 


WHEN  ancient  heroes  sought  to  win 
The  green  Olympic  crown, 
And  in  the  races  victors  prove, 

And  gain  a  high  renown, 
With  self-denial  they  shunned  excess, 

O  temperance  divine  ! 
That  worthily  around  their  brows 
The  civic  wreath  might  twine. 

And  should  not  we  who  seek  a  prize 

Far  higher  than  they  sought, 
Who  seek  a  crown  more  fair  than  those 

By  human  fingers  wrought, 
Be  willing  to  forego  the  cup, 

Its  doubtful  joys  to  shun, 
That  we  may  hear  our  umpire  say, 

"  Hero,  thou  hast  well  done !  " 

Ah,  yes  !  immortal  bliss  we  seek, 

A  diadem  on  high  ; 
And  pressing  onward  in  the  race, 

And  looking  toward  the  sky, 
Each  earthly  weight  we  lay  aside, 

Besetting  sins  ignore, 
Heed  not  the  wine-cup's  fatal  charm, 

And  sip  its  sweets  no  mo. 

Then  shall  our  names,  as  heroes  true, 

Angel  recorded  stand ; 
Then  shall  the  fadeless  crown  be  won, 

And  worn  at  God's  right  hand. 


236  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

From  all  the  victor  host  shall  sound 

Triumphant  shouts  abroad, 
And  praise  for  conquering  grace  be  given 

Forever  to  the  Lord. 


THE   RIDE. 


LOW  hung  the  leaden  clouds  o'er  Reading  paths  ; 
The  damp  breath  of  the  salt  east  wind  was  chill ; 
And  far  from  spring-like  seemed  the  cheerless  day, 
While  sad  its  influence  on  the  heart  and  will. 

There  came  an  hour  when  rifted  clouds  proclaimed 
That  still  the  sun  above  them  brightly  shone  : 

Then  came  thy  message,  and  with  happier  heart 
I  sped  with  thee  o'er  paths  before  unknown. 

Along  the  country  roads  we  quietly  ride, 

And  watch  the  tokens  of  Spring's  gentle  reign : 

The  feathery  catkins  of  the  roadside  trees 
In  graceful  beauty  meet  our  eyes  again. 

The  bending  willows  now  are  clothed  in  green  ; 

Red  flowerets  on  the  maples  we  behold ; 
Lo  !  promise-blossoms  deck  the  cherries  too, 

And  emerald  meadows  oft  are  starred  with  gold. 

I  see  the  birds  flit  from  the  half-clad  trees, 
To  evergreens  where  summer  beauty  shines  ; 

And  hear  their  welcome,  spring-time  carol  sweet, 
Far  off  and  high,  amid  the  lofty  pines. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  237 

Aye,  spring  has  come,  although  the  days  are  dark 
With  lowering  clouds,  and  chill  the   east  winds 
blow: 

Lo !  still  the  promise  is  to  man  fulfilled, 

Seed-time  and  harvest  all  the  earth  shall  know. 

How  is  it  with  thee,  O  my  soul !  to-day  ? 

God  grant  the  seeds  of  holy  truth  are  thine, 
To  grow  in  beauty  through  Life's  changeful  spring, 

And  ripen  for  the  harvest-field  divine. 


CHRISTMAS  EVE. 


IT  was  Christmas  Eve,  and  the  stars  shone  bright, 
But  the  Frost-King  reigned  around ; 
And  the  flakes  which  fell  so  soft  and  light 
Still  lay  on  the  frozen  ground. 

I  walked  the  street  of  an  ancient  town ; 

And  a  spirit  walked  with  me  : 
I  saw  on  the  noble  brow  no  frown  ; 

And  I  whispered,  "  A  welcome  to  thee." 

He  gave  me  a  mirror  which  showed  the  Past,  — 

'Twas  the  Future  I  longed  to  know, 
Till  he  said,  with  a  voice  like  the  wintry  blast, 

All  chilling,  severe,  "  Not  so  !  " 

Then  I  meekly  said,  "  In  the  Lord's  own  time  ;  " 

And  I  gazed  in  the  magic  glass  ; 
And  I  saw  a  vision  sweet,  sublime, 

With  its  glorious  angels,  pass. 


238  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Then  he  bade  me  list ;  and  the  air  was  stirred 

By  a  sweeter  than  mortal  tone  : 
'Twas  the  song  of  the  host  the  shepherds  heard 

When  the  Star  of  Bethlehem  shone. 

And  my  heart  beat  high  with  a  hope  to  join 

In  that  everlasting  song  ; 
And  I  asked  of  him  in  whose  hand  was  mine, 

"•  How  long  must  I  wait  ?  —  how  long?  " 

"  Sing  it  now,  with  a  thankful  heart,  —  sing  it  now ; 

Let  thy  life  be  a  Christmas  glee  !  " 
And  a  kiss  of  peace  felt  my  upturned  brow, 

From  the  spirit  that  walked  with  me. 

Then  he  passed  away  from  that  quiet  path, 

With  adieu  like  the  zephyr's  sigh  ; 
And  my  soul  rejoiced  in  the  hope  that  earth 

Would  yet  echo  the  song  of  the  sky. 


"  WE  ALL  DO  FADE  AS  A  LEAF." 


rpHROUGH  forest-paths  we  love, 
_J_      'Mid  autumn-colored  foliage,  to  stray  ; 
Yet  fallen  leaves,  which  rustle  as  we  move, 
There  whisper  of  decay. 

Upon  the  billowy  deep 

We  gladly  watch  the  lovely  moonlight  sheen, 
A  line  of  silver  where  the  blue  waves  sleep,  — 

Till  clouds  obscure  the  scene. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  239 

With  rapture-speaking  eye, 

We  gaze  upon  each  amber-tinted  cloud 
Which  decorates  the  occidental  sky, 

Ere  night  shall  earth  enshroud. 

And  gladly  oft  we  tread 

The   flower-decked  garden  paths   with   cherished 

friend, 
Gathering  rare  blossoms  for  the  queenly  head, 

Rich  fragrance  there  to  spend. 

But  change  comes  o'er  each  scene  ; 

And  leaves  and  flowerets  wither  and  decay. 
Some  lesson  Nature  thus  would  teach,  I  ween,  — 

Some  warning  thus  convey. 

Hark !  from  the  prophet-page 

Which  points  the  path  of  duty  to  each  soul, 
And  tells  the  destiny  of  fool  and  sage, 

To  us  the  tidings  roll. 

Like  autumn  leaves  we  fade, 

Like  sunset  glory  from  the  gorgeous  west, 
Like  moonlight  beauty  when  night's  queen  is  hid, 

Like  flowers  once  gayly  drest. 

'Tis  well !  I  meekly  bow, 

O  King  of  kings  !  to  this  thy  high  behest : 
Time  writes  too  many  wrinkles  on  my  brow 

For  me  to  doubt  the  rest. 

I  know  that  I  must  die. 

Like  withered  leaf  by  chill  autumnal  blast, 
Swept  from  the  parent-stem,  I,  too,  must  lie 

Where  all  shall  lie  at  last. 


240  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Though  long  grass  soon  may  wave 

Upon  the  turf  'neath  which  my  form  may  rest, 
And  loving,  loved  ones  weep  above  my  grave, 

I  welcome  thy  behest. 

Where  everlasting  Spring 

With  fadeless  blossoms  decks  the  verdant  plain, 
Where  ransomed  souls  eternal  praises  sing, 

There  shall  I  live  again. 

We  fade  ;  but  thanks  to  Thee, 

O  Jesus !  who  hath  conquered  death  and  sin, 
We  only  fade  to  brighten,  die  to  be 

Where  Death  no  prize  can  win. 


THE  BOOK  OF  JOB. 


RING  the  volume  best  and  eldest ; 

Read  that  record,  so  sublime, 
Of  the  man  with  wondrous  patience, 
Hero  on  the  field  of  Time. 

Read  each  grand,  each  noble  sentence, 
Touched  by  true  poetic  fire ; 

He  who  would  imbibe  its  spirit 
Hath  upon  his  banner,  "  Higher. 

When  the  storm-clouds  thickly  gather 
O'er  thy  thorny,  pilgrim  way, 

Trust,  like  Job,  till  gleam  the  rainbows, 
Till  the  night  is  turned  to  day. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  241 

Trust  that  Friend,  the  best,  the  truest, 

Who  will  never  leave  thy  side, 
If  in  storms  or  in  the  sunshine 

Thou  in  patience  wilt  abide. 

Dark  sometimes  must  be  our  pathway, 

Clouds  will  gather  overhead, 
And  our  fondly  loved  and  cherished 

Oft  be  numbered  with  the  dead. 

But  in  God  the  Christian  trusting 

Can  the  song  of  triumph  sing. 
O'er  him  hath  the  grave  no  victory, 

Death  for  him  can  have  no  sting. 

Wrap  the  mantle,  then,  of  patience, 

Round  thy  spirit,  suffering  one : 
Perfect  through  thine  earthly  sorrow, 

Christ  shall  claim  thee  as  his  own. 

Calmly  on  thy  Saviour  leaning, 

Through  the  tearful  valley  go, 
Soon  the  mount  of  bliss  ascending, 

Losing  thought  of  earthly  woe. 


THE   POWER   OF   THE   BEAUTIFUL. 


r  I  1HE  time  of  singing  birds  is  here  ; 
_1_      The  annual  miracle's  begun ; 
And  those  who  tread  the  forest-paths 
Can  pluck  the  blossoms,  one  by  one. 

16 


242  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

It  minds  me  of  a  story  told, 

Concerning  flowers  bright  and  fair, 

Which,  blooming  near  a  cottage  doomed, 
Were  yet  as  silent  guardians  there. 

One  day,  while  War's  rude,  crushing  tread 

Was  heard  o'er  Southern  plains  afar, 
While  hearts  were  rendered  desolate, 

Homes,  too,  oft  met  the  fate  of  war, 
With  swift  revenge  the  soldiery 

To  many  a  cot  the  torch  applied, 
Until  at  last  to  one  they  came, 

With  sweet,  bright  flowerets  at  its  side. 

Their  beauty  was  so  eloquent, 

The  cottage,  flower-adorned,  was  spared, 
As  if  an  angel  interposed 

When  man  the  sword  of  vengeance  bared. 
Thus  hath  the  Beautiful  o'er  man 

A  wondrous  and  a  holy  power ; 
Thus  can  it  soothe  the  wrathful  waves 

That  rise  in  Passion's  stormy  hour. 

O  Thou  who  cloth'st  each  blade  of  grass, 

And  paint'st  the  petals  of  the  rose, 
And  fill'st  the  earth  with  beauty  rare, 

To  us  thy  character  disclose, 
Till  every  beauteous  thing  of  earth 

Shall  whisper  to  our  souls  of  heaven ; 
And  thine  own  beauty,  holiness, 

Shall  be  to  all  our  spirits  given ! 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  243 


MOONLIGHT  ON  THE  OCEAN. 


TTTUS  moonlight  on  the  ocean;  and  the  mighty 

_1_  waters  sleep, 

Save  where  the  line  of  radiance  comes  across  the 

pathless  deep : 
There  billows  weave  a  fairy  dance,  and  sparkle  in 

the  light 
Which  falls  so  softly  on  them  now,  amid  the  hush  of 

night. 

I  stand  upon  the  hill-top  green,  and  gaze  far  o'er  the 

main, 
And  see  the  rocky  islets  *  there,  and  hear  the  waves 

again, 
"Which  beat  in  gentle  cadences  upon  the  pebbly 

shore, 
And  'mind  me  of  a  distant  islef  my  eyes  may  see  no 

more. 

Home,  home,  beyond  those  waters !  O  home  so  dear 
to  me! 

Not  e'en  the  crested  billows  can  divide  my  heart  from 
thee. 

Are  moonbeams  resting  on  the  waves  which  break 
along  thy  shore  ? 

And  do  the  eyes  I  long  to  greet%gaze  on  them  as  be 
fore? 

*  Lowell  Island,  &c.  t  Nantucket. 


244  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Moonlight  upon  the  ocean :  oh  !  there  is  no  fairer 

scene 
This  side  the  pearly  gates  of  heaven,  for  mortal  eyes,  I 

ween ; 
And,  while  I  gaze,  my  heart  ascends  with  grateful 

praise  to  Him 
Before  whose  beauteous  holiness  the  sheen  of  earth 

grows  dim. 

Father  and  Saviour !  Spirit  pure !  my  heart  ascends 

to  thee, 
That,  wheresoe'er  upon  this  earth  my  weary  feet  may 

be, 
My  eyes  may  gaze  on  scenes  so  fair  through  Faith's 

revealing  glass, 
That  trustfully  toward  future  days  my  steps  may 

onward  pass. 

For  he  who  sends  the  moonlight  now  to  make  the 

deep  so  fair  — 
God's  smile  upon  the  waters  lark  when  gloomy  night 

is  there  — 
Can  send  his  Spirit's  joyful  light  to  gleam  along  my 

way, — 
A  line  of  holy  radiance  and  a  part  of  heaven's  day. 

O  God !  I  thank  thee  for  the  hours,  when,  standing 

by  the  sea, 
Alone,  or  with  beloved  friends,  my  heart  is  drawn  to 

thee ; 

For,  while  its  quiet  loveliness  my  spirit  doth  control, 
This  moonlight  on  the  ocean  shall  be  sunlight  in  my 

soul. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  245 

A    TRIBUTE   OF   GRATITUDE. 


[Respectfully  inscribed  to  Mrs.  B.  Wallis,  Jun.,  author  of  "  Life  in  Feejee."] 

MY  God,  I  thank  thee  !  to  thy  lofty  throne 
In  gratitude  I  lift  my  heart  to-night ; 
For  every  good  and  perfect  gift  comes  down 
From  thee,  as  from  the  sun  its  rays  of  light. 

Each  graceful-formed  and  lovely-tinted  flower 
Which  decks  the  earth,  as  stars  the  evening  sky, 

Is  emblematic  of  thy  love  and  power, 

And  speaks  of  heaven,  where  flowerets  never  die. 

Such  hast  thou  sent  me  by  the  hand  of  one 

United  to  me  by  the  mystic  tie 
"Which  binds  in  union  sweet  who  seek  alone 

Thy  will  to  do,  who  reignest  e'er  on  high. 

By  her  fair  flowers  thou  this  day  hast  sent, 
Awaking  memories  of  an  island  shore, 

While  tears  and  smiles  within  my  heart  were  blent, 
At  thought  of  gardens  I  may  tread  no  more. 

Yet,  Father,  still  I  thank  thee  ;  for  I  read 

On  every  petal,  as  a  holy  page, 
That  thou  art  here,  thou  knowest  my  spirit-need, 

And  wilt  that  spirit's  grief  by  love  assuage. 

Then,  as  the  token  that  warm  hearts  are  here, 
And  loving  souls  are  still  around  my  way, 

I  take  them.     Father,  this  petition  hear : 
Oh  guide  the  giver  to  thy  perfect  day ! 


246  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THE   BOYS'    HYMN. 


[Toplady's  beautiful  hymn,  "  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me,"  was  finely  sung 
by  the  boys  on  board  the  School  Ship  "Massachusetts,"  then  in  Beverly 
Harbor,  sabbath  afternoon,  Sept.  7,  1862,  at  the  close  of  services  held  on 
board  by  Rev.  Dr.  Jos.  Abbott  and  Rev.  J.  C.  Foster.  It  is  related  of  the 
late  Prince  Albert,  that  he  repeated  in  his  last  hours  this  comforting  hymn  ; 
and  the  remembrance  of  this  fact,  while  the  lads  were  singing,  suggested  the 
following  lines :  — ] 


rMHE  sabbath  hours  were  almost  spent, 

I        The  sun  was  in  the  west, 
When,  gently  rocking  with  the  tide 

Upon  old  ocean's  breast, 
I  listened  to  a  sacred  song, 

Whose  utterance  thrilled  mine  heart, 
And,  where  its  echoes  floated,  stood 

Reluctant  to  depart. 

They  sang,  —  those  boys,  —  in  sweetest  tones, 

Of  Christ,  the  smitten  Rock : 
I  thought  of  England's  mourning  queen, 

When  first  she  knew  the  shock 
Of  widowhood,  and  how  her  heart 

Sweet  comfort  must  have  known, 
Since  Albert  told  in  that  sweet  hymn 

He  trusted  Christ  alone. 

The  meeting  closed,  the  daylight  waned ; 

We  bade  the  ship  adieu  ; 
And,  gliding  o'er  the  moon-lit  waves, 

To  shore  we  quickly  drew  : 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  247 

But  long  within  our  memories 

That  evening  hour  will  dwell,  — 
The  rising  moon,  the  silvered  waves, 

And  day's  serene  farewell. 

And  blending  with  the  thought  of  words 

In  kindness  spoken  there, 
And  with  the  hymns  by  others  sung, 

And  with  the  voice  of  prayer, 
Will  come  the  sound  of  music  sweet, — 

The  hymn  the  young  lads  sung 
About  the  sheltering,  smitten  Rock 

To  which  Prince  Albert  clung. 

O  Rock  of  Ages !  in  thy  side 

Sweet  refuge  may  we  know, 
When  gathering  storms  our  skies  obscure, 

And  wintry  winds  may  blow  ! 
And  may  the  youthful  band  which  sang 

That  loved  and  precious  hymn, 
By  grace  be  fitted  for  the  choir 

Of  holy  seraphim ! 


GLORY  TO  GOD  ALONE 


a  LORY  to  God  alone  !  "  aloud  they  cry 
Who  bow  before  the  throne  ; 
And  answering  praises  fill  the  world  on  high, 
"  Glory  to  God  alone  !  " 


248  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

When  Israel  from  the  land  of  bondage  came, 

Thine  arm  was  their  defence  ; 
And  thine  the  pillar  of  the  cloud  and  flame, 

To  lead  thy  people  thence. 

Thou,  when  Life's  hosts  on  tossing  waves  were  driven, 

Didst  light  fair  Bethlehem's  star, 
To  guide  the  wanderer  to  the  port  of  heaven, 

From  ski  and  sorrow  far. 

Still  shines  the  star  of  hope  above  Life's  waves ; 

Thy  flock  thou  still  dost  lead ; 
Thine  arm  is  mighty  yet  thine  own  to  save, 

And  thou  our  souls  doth  feed. 

Then  loud  along  the  vaulted  arch  above, 

Thy  praises  should  resound  ; 
And  prayer  to  Thee,  —  God  of  eternal  love  !  — 

"  Make  earth  all  hallowed  ground  !  " 

Thine  is  the  work :  let  thine  the  glory  be 

Who  brought  salvation  down : 
O  Jesus !  Master !  praise  belongs  to  thee, 

And  thou  must  wear  the  crown. 

Thou  Lamb  of  God !  while  saints  and  angels  sing, 

Sit  thou  upon  thy  throne  : 
Then  henceforth  let  the  heavenly  chorus  ring, 

"  Glory  to  God  alone  !  " 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  249 

"INSULA   BON^   FORTUNE." 


~1VT~OT  here  the  spicy  breezes  float, 
_1_M       Nor  palms  luxuriant  wave, 
Nor  brilliant  birds  with  curious  note 

In  sparkling  fountains  lave  ; 
For  this  is  not  Sumatra's  isle,* 
Upon  which  rests  Good  Fortune's  smile. 

But  here  the  cool  sea-breezes  blow 
Through  summer's  sunny  hours, 

And  Health's  glad  angels  come  and  go, 
With  soothing,  magic  powers ; 

And  to  the  invalid  it  seems 

The  "  Fortune  Island  "  of  his  dreams. 

Away  from  care,  away  from  toil, 

The  wanderer  here  may  rest, 
And  find  upon  his  native  soil 

The  joys  he  loves  the  best  : 
Sweet  converse  with  each  long-loved  friend, 
And  peace  in  God  that  knows  no  end. 

To  me  this  isle  is  doubly  dear, 
Because  my  birth-place  twice  :  f 

*  The  ancients  were  accustomed  to  call  Sumatra  "Insula  Bouse  For- 
tunse,"  or  the  "Island of  Good  Fortune." 

t  It  is  related  of  the  youthful,  godly  Summerfield,  that,  on  his  arrival  in 
this  country,  he  was  asked  by  a  doctor  of  divinity  the  place  of  his  nativity. 
He  mentioned  both  Liverpool  and  Dublin.  "  How  can  that  be?"  inquired 
the  D.D.  Summerfield  turned,  and,  fixing  on  his  interrogator  a  penetrating 
gaze,  answered  with  solemn  emphasis,  in  the  words  of  Christ  to  Nicodemus, 
"  Art  thou  a  master  in  Israel,  and  knowest  not  these  things  ?  " 


250  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  tender  Shepherd  found  me  here, 

And  bade  me  know  his  voice. 
Ah  !  then  this  "  island  of  the  sea  " 
Hath  been  Good  Fortune's  isle  to  me. 

God  bless  our  sea-beat  island  home  ! 

Where  Freedom  early  found 
A  refuge  from  an  unjust  doom  * 

Is  surely  hallowed  ground. 
And,  reader,  may  it  prove  to  thee, 
"  Insula  Bouse  Fortunaa  " ! 


ROUND    HILL. 


[Suggested  by  a  recent  visit  to  a  hill  of  this  name  in  Saugus,  in  company 
with  the  Essex  Institute.] 


1)  RIGHT  was  the  morning  hour  when  erst  we 
JL3  pressed 

That  sunny  hill-top  with  our  stranger  feet, 
And  viewed  with  joy  the  rural  beauty  round, 

And  the  blue  waves  where  earth  and  heaven  meet. 

Nearer,  the  river,  with  its  gentle  flow, 
Winding  in  serpent  folds  its  azure  way, 

And  farther,  in  the  orient  horizon, 

Old  ocean  sparkling  'neath  the  orb  of  day, 

*  Some  of  the  earliest  settlers  of  Nantucket  came  here  to  find  a  refuge 
from  penalties  incurred  by  righteous  disobedience  to  the  unjust  laws  which 
forbade  kindness  to  Quakers. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  251 

Both  emblems  of  the  truth  we  humbly  seek  : 
Here  a  small  streamlet  with  a  sinuous  course  ; 

There  the  broad  sea  of  wisdom  infinite, 

Where   we   may  bathe  when  Life  shall  reach  its 
source. 

Round  Hill !  thy  name  is  all  unknown  to  fame  ; 

Historic  pages  mention  not  of  thee  ; 
Yet  Memory  oft  shall  view  thy  grassy  top, 

Crowned  with  its  single,  fence-encircled  tree. 

That  tree  spoke  to  my  soul  of  one  afar,  — 
A  tree  beneath  whose  shadow  lies  the  dust 

Of  one  endeared  to  Christians  o'er  the  earth,* 
Now  crowned  and  sanctified  amid  the  just. 

The  hopia-tree  !  which  stands  alone  and  far 
Where  the  swift  waters  of  the  Salwen  flow, 

And  mingle  in  the  distance  with  the  waves 
Whereon  the  barks  of  India  come  and  go. 

Rivers  and  oceans  in  the  pictures  blend, 

Hilltops  and  lonely  trees ;  but,  thanks  to  God ! 

TJiat  is  a  tree  upon  a  heathen  soil, 

This  a  fair  elm  in  thine  own  land,  O  Lord  ! 

Thy  land  !  oh,  make  it  thine  yet  more  and  more  ! 

While  blood  baptizes  oft  the  sacred  soil ; 
And  when  the  shout  of  "  Peace !  "  shall  echo  wide, 

Let  Freedom  bloom  in  beauty  'neath  thy  smile. 

Then  on  this  hilltop  of  the  pilgrim  shore 

May  the  bright  banner  of  our  country  wave, 

A  token  that  the  storm  at  last  is  o'er, 

And  God's  bright  rainbow  gleams  for  every  slave ! 

*  Mrs.  Ann  H.  Judson. 


252  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THE  LOVE-FEAST. 


[Suggested  by  attending  a  religious  meeting  with  this  designation,  held 
in  the  Methodist  Chapel,  Centre  Street,  Nantucket,  June  17,  I860.] 


met  in   His   name   who   to   each  loving 
JL  heart 

The  life-giving  word  had  once  spoken ; 
The  flow  of  whose  peace  in  full  many  a  soul 

For  long  years  had  continued  unbroken. 

They  met  in  His  name,  to  renew  every  vow 

Of  love,  and  of  earnest  devotion 
To  God  and  his  cause,  till  the  hearts  of  all  men 

Are  his  own,  on  the  land  and  the  ocean. 

They  met ;  and  the  tide  of  their  faith  rose  high, 

As  the  songs  of  Zion  sounded, 
And  ebbed  no  more  through  that  evening  hour, 

For  their  love  to  God  abounded. 

They  met ;  and  my  heart  beat  high  with  joy 

To  meet  with  those  dear  believers  ; 
And  my  thoughts  went  forward  to  the  mansions  fair, 

Which  are  waiting  to  receive  us. 

O  rapturous  thought !  that  no  tears  shall  fall 

When  the  ransomed  meet  in  heaven : 
E'en  penitent  grief  shall  be  changed  to  joy, 

Where  the  crown  of  live  is  given. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  253 

No  faltering  tongue  shall  His  praise  declare, 

In  that  meeting  of  saints  in  glory  ; 
For  the  love-feast  of  the  Lamb  shall  hear 

Each  member  tell  one  story. 

A  tale  of  triumph,  of  victory  won 

Through  the  might  of  the  conquering  Saviour,  — 
Of  love  unmixed  from  a  purified  heart, 

"  Made  perfect  in  love  "  forever. 

God  grant  us  a  home  with  that  glorified 'throng 
Who  the  love  of  our  Lord  are  recounting, 

Who  from  glory  to  glory,  from  grace  unto  grace, 
For  ever  and  ever  are  mounting  ! 


"UPS  AND  DOWNS." 


life  is  all  a  battle-field ; 
-1_       And  Right  and  Wrong  are  waging 
A  mighty  warfare  in  the  earth, 
In  which  we're  all  engaging. 

Then  gird  the  Christian  armor  on, 

And  bravely  forth  to  strife  : 
There's  nothing  like  the  Christian's  hope, 

For  the  "  ups  and  downs  "  of  life. 

Life  hath  its  gulf-streams,  and  too  oft 
Its  maelstroms  of  temptation : 

He's  safe  alone  whose  pilot  is 
The  Captain  of  Salvation. 


254  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  Life  is  full  of  changeful  scenes, 

While  joy  and  sorrow  pass, 
Like  waves  of  shadow  chasing  swift 

O'er  long,  green  summer  grass. 

Then  seek  the  guidance  of  that  star 
Which  shines  where  strife's  suspended : 

There  rest  and  joy  the  victor  wait ; 
There  "  ups  and  downs  "  are  ended, 

Yes,  gird  the  Christian  armor  on, 

And  bravely  forth  to  strife : 
There's  nothing  like  the  Christian's  hope 

For  the  "  ups  and  downs  "  of  life. 


GOD    REIGNS. 


[Read  at  the  Essex  County  Good  Templars'  Union,  held  in  Beverly,  May  3, 

1865.] 


HARK  to  the  minstrel  monarch's  lifted  voice, 
Down  the  long  ages  borne  to  distant  ears, 
"  Jehovah  reigneth,  let  the  earth  rejoice  !  " 
And  quelled  forever  be  our  rising  fears. 

God  reigns  !  our  land,  of  every  land  the  best, 
Has  long  been  darkened  by  the  cloud  of  war ; 

And  on  the  shore  of  public  peace  and  joy 

Break  the  huge  billows  with  tumultuous  roar. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  255 

Yet  high  o'er  every  surge  the  mighty  God, 

Throned  as  of  old,  doth  still  the  sceptre  wield : 

He  parts  the  crimson  waves  with  lifted  rod, 

And  lo  !  the  long-sought  Canaan  stands  revealed. 

But  in  our  joy,  as  we  beheld  the  dawn 

Of  the  bright  era  when  fair  Peace  shall  reign, 

The  bold  assassin  turned  our  night  to  morn, 
And  sorrow  wraps  our  war-cursed  land  again. 

Why  is  it  thus  ?  we  ask,  but  ask  in  vain : 

Enough,  that  high  o'er  earth  and  earthly  things 

The  Lord  our  God,  our  Father,  still  doth  reign  ; 
Still  is  he  Lord  of  lords,  and  King  of  kings. 

In  him  we'll  trust  whatever  may  befall, 
Assured  that  love  and  wisdom  cannot  err : 

No  strange  event  shall  our  strong  souls  appall, 
For  God  at  last  must  be  the  conqueror. 

Yes,  Wrong  shall  die,  and  Truth  supreme  shall  reign ; 

And  we  who  toil  in  this  divine  reform 
Are  not  on  board  the  temperance  ship  in  vain, 

But  safe  shall  outride  each  impending  storm ; 

And  see  the  drunkard  rescued  from  his  woe, 
The  wine-cup  banished  from  the  social  band, 

The  paths  made  pure  where  youthful  steps  must  go, 
And  all  intemperance  banished  from  the  land. 

Strong  be  our  faith  in  this,  —  that,  while  we  toil, 
God  watches  o'er  us  to  reward  our  pains  : 

Seed  sown  in  tears  shall  spring  forth  from  the  soil, 
And  give  us  golden  harvests  ;  for  God  reigns  ! 


256  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

RETURN  OF  THE  JEWS  TO  PALESTINE. 


"  The  Sultan  of  Turkey  is  encouraging  Jewish  emigration  to  Palestine, 
and  is  offering  to  sell  them  as  much  land  as  they  choose  to  buy ;  and  it  is 
said  has  even  expressed  a  willingness  to  dispose  of  the  Mosque  of  Omar  to 
them,  which  it  will  be  recollected  stands  upon  the  very  site  of  the  Jewish 
Temple  on  Mount  Moriah.  .  .  .  Some  of  the  hills  around  Jerusalem 
have  already  become  Jewish  property;  and  it  is  by  no  means  improbable 
that  some  of  the  present  generation  will  see  the  entire  city  of  Jerusalem 
again  in  the  hands  of  its  ancient  owners.  That  mighty  revolutions  will 
follow  in  the  wake  of  such  an  event  is  probably  as  certain  as  that  the  Jews 
will  return  at  all ;  at  all  events,  affairs  in  that  immediate  region  of  the  East 
must  ere  long  become  an  engrossing  theme  among  the  nations  of  the 
earth."  —  Phil.  Press.  

THEY  come  !  to  Olive's  brow  they  come ! 
The  scattered  tribes  return  ! 
They  gaze  on  dear  Jerusalem, 

O'er  which  their  spirits  yearn. 
O  wondrous  page  of  history  ! 

O  prophecy  o'erpast ! 
For  Jewish  feet  shall  tread  the  courts 
Of  Omar's  mosque  at  last. 

Where  are  the  barriers,  firm  and  strong, 

To  check  the  advancing  tide  ? 
Where  are  the  Roman  soldiers  now  ? 

Where  is  the  Moslem  pride  ? 
God  speaks  :  t'is  done  !    Those  prophet-tones 

Which  through  the  ages  rang 
No  longer  sound  in  Jewish  ears 

With  heavy,  martial  clang. 

The  angel-song  o'er  Bethlehem's  plains  — 

The  note  of  peace  and  love  — 
Now  like  Creation's  fiat  sounds, 

And  all  the  world  shall  move. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  257 

On  Europe's  plains,  'neath  Syria's  palms, 

May  sanguine  currents  flow  ; 
Yet  louder  sounds  the  anthem  sweet 

Which  all  the  world  shall  know. 

E'en  'though  to  War's  fell  power,  alas  ! 

Broad  lands  may  still  be  given, 
Yet  "  Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men, 

Glory  to  God  in  heaven," 
Shall  soon  the  song  of  nations  be,  — 

Our  own  and  all  beside,  — 
Till  the  glad  stream  of  brotherhood 

Flows  a  resistless  tide. 

Partition  walls  shall  crumble  then, 

And  Jew  and  Gentile  bend, 
With  loving  hearts,  at  one  fair  shrine, 

Their  offerings  to  blend. 
Then  shall  the  bondman  fling  his  chains 

With  joyful  shout  away  ; 
And  every  heart  with  praise  shall  hail 

Earth's  bright  millennial  day. 


THE  MOONLIGHT  SCENE. 


[Suggested  by  a  picture  of  George  Southward's,  representing  a  river-view 
in  the  summer  moonlight.] 


HOW  beautiful !  the  moonlight  falls 
So  softly  o'er  the  wave, 
It  minds  me  of  the  land  whose  shore 
God's  boundless  love  doth  lave. 

17 


258  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

How  gloriously  the  moonbeams  dance 

Upon  the  summer  sea, 
As  if  a  fairy  festival 

Was  held  in  merry  glee  I 

How  true  to  Nature  !     Launch  the  boat 

0  ye  upon  the  shore ! 

And  gently  on  that  sparkling  tide 
Now  ply  the  dripping  oar. 

Would  I  were  there,  and  by  my  side 
Some  noble,  cherished  friend, 

Glad  hours  upon  those  moonlit  waves 
Alone  with  me  to  spend ! 

The  soothing  charm  of  such  a  scene  ! 

It  cometh  o'er  my  soul, 
And,  with  a  welcome  glad  and  free, 

1  bow  to  its  control. 

O  Thou  who  giveth  man  the  power 
Thy  fair  works  thus  to  show  ! 

Thanks  for  the  boon,  as  now  my  soul 
The  blessedness  may  know 

Of  gazing  on  a  scene  like  this, 
Which  minds  me  of  that  land 

Where  all  is  beautiful  and  bright, 
Or  glorious  and  grand. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  259 


THEY  MARRY  NOT  IN  HEAVEN. 


"In  the  resurrection  they  neither  marry,  nor  are  given  in  marriage,  but  are 
as  the  angels  of  God  in  heaven."  —  MATT.  xxii.  30. 


THEY  marry  not  in  heaven ! 
Love  is  not  bartered  there  for  sordid  gold, 
Nor  youth's  bright  hopes  nor  beauty's   charms   are 
sold  ; 

But  love  alone  is  given 
For  its  equivalent,  and  "  love  for  love  " 
Is  all  the  merchant-rule  of  those  above. 

They  marry  not  in  heaven ! 
The  Mussulman  can  claim  no  "  houri  "  there. 
Women  with  souls  the  Christian's  heaven  share, 

And  every  bond  is  riven 
Which  mars  the  freedom  of  the  holy  soul, 
And  gives  to  sense  and  sin  a  sad  control. 

They  marry  not  in  heaven  ! 
Aud  yet  those  earth-born  ties,  if  true  and  fond, 
Uniting  spirits  in  the  true  marriage-bond, 

Will  not  be  sadly  riven : 

They  who  were  one  on  earth  henceforth  shall  rove 
Still  wedded  lovers  in  the  world  above. 

They  marry  not  in  heaven  ! 
But  they  who,  wandering  like  the  dove,  alone, 
No  rest  with  fond,  true  mate  on  earth  have  known ; 

And  nobly  here  have  striven 


260  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  yearnings  of  the  soul  to  satisfy, 

By  toiling,  though  alone,  with  purpose  high,  — 

They  marry  not  in  heaven  ; 
But  they  shall  find,  amid  the  shining  throng, 
Some  kindred  souls  to  echo  back  their  song, 

Some  harps  whose  strings  have  given 
No  answering  notes  on  earth  to  human  love, 
Waiting  to  meet  them  in  that  world  above. 

They  marry  not  in  heaven  ! 
And  yet  in  that  celestial,  glorious  home, 
Heart  bound  to  heart,  and  hand  in  hand,  they  roam 

To  whom  on  earth  was  given 
A  union  sweet  of  hearts,  though  not  of  hands, 
A  blending  which  each  seraph  understands. 

They  marry  not  in  heaven ! 
But  all  the  joy  which  glowing  fancy  paints, 
The  gift  of  God,  the  heritage  of  saints, 

To  ransomed  souls  is  given, 
Where  kindred  spirits  meet  to  part  no  more, 
And  blend,  like  rivers,  on  Life's  farther  shore. 

They  marry  not  in  heaven  ! 
O  God  of  love  !  whose  wise  and  holy  plan 
Of  human  wedlock  oft  is  marred  by  man, 

Praise  to  thy  name  be  given ! 
That  loving  souls  shall  find  communion  sweet, 
And  free  from  sin,  where  all  thy  children  meet. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  261 


REST  FOR  THE  TRUE  LABORER. 


HERE'S  a  world  of  light  and  beauty 
JL    For  the  friends  of  right  and  duty  ; 
There  shall  all  the  weary  rest, 
There  the  sorrowing  shall  be  blest. 
In  that  land  of  joy  and  gladness, 
Where  no  spirit  dreams  of  sadness, 
.Smiles  illumine  every  brow, 
As  before  the  throne  they  bow. 

Those  on  earth  who  follow  Jesus, 
And  in  heaven  place  their  treasures, 
There  shall  find  a  harp  and  crown, 
When  earth's  weapons  are  laid  down. 
They  who  seek,  as  souls  immortal, 
Entrance  through  the  starry  portal, 
Safe  from  every  earthly  woe, 
Tears  and  sighs  no  more  shall  know. 

They  whose  souls  are  often  weary, 
And  to  whom  earth's  path  seems  dreary, 
As  they  daily,  nightly  toil, 
Plough  the  sea,  or  till  the  soil ; 
All  who  seek,  by  earnest  labor, 
Highest  good  of  self  and  neighbor, 
All  who  toil  aright,  shall  rest 
Where  the  ransomed  soul  is  blest. 


262  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

THE  SHIPWRECK. 


"T~~\  AYLIGHT  was  fading  o'er  the  billowy  deep  ; 
J  J  A  noble  ship  approached  the  wished-for  shore ; 
And  watching  eyes,  which  often  used  to  weep 
For  distant  friends,  now  hope  to  weep  no  more. 

A  few  hours  only,  and  they  hope  to  moor 

Their  bark  beside  the  land  they  love  so  well,  — 

To  hear  fond  welcomes  from  that  longed-for  shore, 
Sweeter  than  music-tones  or  vesper-bell. 

As  from  the  west  the  rose-tint  faded  fast, 
The  stars  hung  out  their  banners  in  the  sky, 

The  lighthouse  gleamed  afar,  the  evening  blast 
Sank  to  a  zephyr  like  a  lover's  sigh. 

With  throbbing  hearts  the  waiting  ones  reposed, 
To  gather  strength  for  joys  with  coming  day  ; 

Yet  scarce  their  ej^elids  with  sweet  slumber  closed, 
Ere  they  were  wakened  by  the  dash  of  spray. 

And  by  the  sudden  shock  which  told  a  tale 
Of  ocean  shipwreck  and  its  horrors  dire  : 

For  them  in  vain,  though  hushed  the  stormy  gale, 
Now  gleamed  across  the  deep  the  beacon-fire. 

The  boats  were  crowded  till  they  held  no  more, 
And  frantic  cries  arose  from  many  there,  — 

That,  though  the  night  was  calm,  the  distant  shore 
And  all  its  blessings  they  could  never  share. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  263 

Ah,  why  this  sad  close  of  a  voyage  so  near 
Its  happiest  end  upon  the  destined  shore  ! 

Oh !  had  the  wine-cup  never  sparkled  there, 
No  death-cry  would  have  blent  with  ocean's  roar. 


MRS.  HEMANS  ON  THE  SEA-SHORE. 


"  The  sea-shore  was  her  Forest  of  Ardennes,  and  she  loved  it  for  its  lone 
liness  and  freedom  well.  It  was  a  favorite  freak  of  hers,  when  quite  a 
child,  to  get  up  privately,  after  careful  attendants  had  fancied  her  safe  in 
bed,  and  making  her  way  down  to  the  water  side,  to  indulge  herself  with  a 
stolen  bath."  —  Henry  E.  dim-ley's  Memorials  of  Mrs.  Hemans. 


ALONE  and  by  the  ocean's  side, 
Night's  sober  mantle  cast  around, 
Afar  from  haunts  of  wealth  and  pride, 
The  solitude  she  sought  was  found. 

And  who,  save  those  who  feel  as  she, 
Can  tell  the  joys  that  filled  her  soul, 

As,  vast  and  fathomless  and  free, 
She  saw  the  mighty  billows  roll  ? 

Perchance  upon  her  spirit's  shrine 
There  burned  afresh  poetic  fire, 

As  there  she  mused  on  things  divine, 
Or  sounded  there  her  sweet-toned  lyre. 

The  visions  of  her  early  youth, 
Beside  the  lonely,  heaving  main, 

Oh  !  were  they  not  love,  hope,  and  truth, 
In  after-life  recalled  again  ? 


264  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

How  oft  the  scenes  in  early  life 
Of  future  days  a  type  appears  ! 

Then  knew  not  Hemans'  soul  the  strife, 
The  joys  and  griefs,  of  after  years  ! 

No  more  she  seeks  that  lonely  shore 
For  whom  Castalian  waters  flowed ; 

No  more  on  earth  she  treads  the  path 
Which  leads  to  heaven's  bright  abode. 

Forever  o'er  are  all  her  cares, 

Her  sorrows,  and  her  earthly  joys  ; 

For  praises  now  are  changed  her  prayers, 
And  heaven's  own  work  her  mind  employs. 


WENHAM-LAKE   ICE. 


[An  American  travelling  in  England,  a  few  years  ago,  noticed  in  a  Lon 
don  street  the  advertisement,  "  Wenham-Lake  Ice ! "  His  thoughts  are  sup 
posed  to  be  uttered  in  the  following  lines :  — ] 


FAR  from  my  home  upon  New-England  shores, 
Where  Pilgrim  feet  the  rocks  have  sanctified, 
I  tread  Old  England's  crowded  streets,  alone 
In  the  thronged  capital,  her  boast  and  pride. 

All  day,  for  many  a  day,  my  thoughts  have  been 
In  the  historic  Past,  and  in  the  Tower, 

Or  in  the  Abbey  where  Fame's  children  lie,  — 
My  heart  has  been  with  England  every  hour. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  265 

But  now  a  rush  of  memories  sad  and  sweet 
Comes  to  my  mind,  as,  gazing,  in  a  trice 

My  spirit  leaps  at  a  familiar  name  : 

There's  magic  in  those  words,  "  Lake-Wenham  Ice ! " 

I  seem  to  see  that  placid,  silvery  sheet 

Spread  out  beneath  the  moonbeams  far  away, 

Or  hear  its  mimic  billows  kiss  the  shore 
As  there  I  linger  at  the  close  of  day. 

Far  off!  —  three  thousand  miles  of  salt  sea  lie 
Between  me  and  thy  waters  fresh  and  clear : 

I  may  not  taste  the  nectar  from  thee  quaffed, 
Nor  bathe  in  thee  again  for  many  a  year. 

Yet  even  here  thy  virtues  may  be  known  : 
Thou  hast  a  magic  for  the  stranger  too ; 

Thy  name  awakes  sweet  music  in  my  soul, 

Tlry  self,  congealed,  may  soothe  a  stranger's  woe. 

Where  the  worn  sufferer,  with  the  throbbing  pulse, 
Awaits  Death's  mandate,  thou  may'st  haply  go  ; 

Lay  thy  cool  fingers  gently  on  his  brow, 
Till  the  blood  cometh  evenly  and  slow. 

So,  like  the  fabled  fountain,  thou  shalt  be 
The  "  aqua  vitce  "  for  the  stranger's  hand 

That  dips  with  faith  the  chalice  in  thy  wave, 
Wafted  by  commerce  to  our  mother-land. 

Lake  Wenham !  on  thy  shore  I  hope  to  stand, 
And  gaze  again  across  thy  waters  blue, 

And  in  that  fairer  than  each  foreign  land, 

Beneath  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  thy  beauty  view. 


2C6  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


RALLY  FOR  TEMPERANCE. 


[Read  at  a  meeting  of  Mystic  Lodge,  Feb.  1,  1865.] 


WE  rally  round  the  flag,  my  friends, 
We  rally  here  to-night, 
Unconquered  and  unshrinking  still, 

Strong  for  the  True  and  Right. 
Our  banner  flutters  in  the  breeze, 
The  good  old  temperance  flag : 
We  will  not  crush  its  ample  folds, 
We  lower  it  to  no  rag. 

E'en  as  our  country's  "  dear  old  flag  " 

Waves  far  o'er  vale  and  hill ; 
So  shall  the  temperance  banner  wave, 

The  pledge  of  triumph  still. 
The  young  are  pressing  to  our  ranks, 

With  temperance  youth  to  crown  ; 
And  they  will  bear  their  banner  high, 

When  we  must  lay  it  down. 

The  day  of  freedom  will  at  length 

For  each  inebriate  dawn, 
As  gloweth  for  the  bondman  now, 

Beneath  our  flag,  the  morn. 
Oh,  not  in  word  let  us  alone 

The  friends  of  temperance  be  ! 
But  let  us  labor,  —  strike  the  axe 

At  every  cumbering  tree. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  267 

In  word  and  deed,  in  heart  and  soul, 

To  temperance  ever  true, 
Let  us  our  appetites  control, 

And  win  companions  too. 
So  shall  our  order  stronger  be, 

Our  lodge  a  type  more  true 
Of  that  high  temple  where  He  sits 

Whose  face  we  hope  to  view. 

There,  in  the  grandest  lodge  of  all, 

Where  angel  anthems  sound, 
May  we  all  gather  when  our  work 

No  more  on  earth  is  found ! 
All  have  the  Chiefs  high  welcome  then, 

All  speak  the  password  sweet, 
And  clasp  the  friendly  hand  anew 

Where  all  Good  Templars  meet ! 


TO    ONE    WHO    HAS    LENT    ME    THE 
WORKS    OF    SWEDENBORG. 


AS  when  the  fainting  traveller  meets  upon  the 
desert  sands 
With  one  whose  stranger  heart  is  kind  and  his  need 

understands, 
Though  lips  all  parched  may  not  express  the  thirsty 

traveller's  joy, 

Yet  beams   the   gratitude   he  feels   forth   from   his 
speaking  eye. 


268  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

So  I  to  thee  can  scarce  describe,  in  simple  rhymes 

like  mine, 
The  grateful  fount  within  my  soul  which  welleth  up 

to  thine  ; 

Yet  I  will  strive  to  look  my  joy  by  living  as  he  taught 
Whose  volumes  of  divinest  lore  thou  to  my  view  hast 

brought. 

Long  have  I  sighed  to  ponder  o'er  the  pages  of  the 

sage 
Whose  revelations  give  to  youth  the  wisdom  of  old 

age; 
Who  teaches  that  enjoyment  may,  yet  never  must  be 

ours, 
But  "Duty!"  is  the  rallying  cry  which  calls  to  use 

our  powers. 

Not  for  our  selfish  joy  alone  the  paths  of  earth  we 

tread ; 
But  while  the  angels  guard  our  steps,  God  watching 

overhead, 
We  are  to  seek  man's  highest  good  by  usefulness  and 

love, 
Assured  that  all  who  labor  here  have  sweeter  rest 

above. 

What  if  our  paths  sometimes  are  strewn  with  thorns 
so  sharp  and  hard, 

We  almost  cease  to  hope  for  paths  along  a  smooth 
green  sward ! 

God's  eye  is  on  us ;  and  his  love,  his  providence  di 
vine, 

Is  polishing  our  spirits  then,  that  we  as  gems  may 
shine 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  269 

In  that  fair  land  of  use  and  love,  of  peace  and  pure 

delight, 
Which   burst   upon   the   northern  seer's  enraptured 

spirit's  sight : 
There  shall  the  sufferer  for  truth  be  crowned  with 

fadeless  joy, 
And  in  the  works  his  heart  hath  loved  find  evermore 

employ. 

To  thee,  O  God  !  our  spirit's  guide  to  all  sublime  and 
pure, 

Be  rendered  praise  for  giving  man  such  lofty,  won 
drous  lore, 

His  heart  to  strengthen,  soul  to  cheer,  along  Life's  pil 
grim  way, 

And  ope  to  him,  in  sorrow's  night,  some  glimpses  of 
the  day. 

Then  next  to  thee,  kind  friend,  my  thanks  forever 

shall  be  given, 
Since  thou  hast  helped  me  thus  to  draw  yet  nearer 

to  that  heaven 
Where  through  the  circling  ages  may  thy  ransomed 

spirit  dwell, 
And  I  be  gifted  then  with  power  my  gratitude  to  tell ! 

God  bless  thee,  guide  thee,  crown  thee  his,  when 

mortal  life  is  o'er, 
And  give  us  blissful  meetings  oft  upon  the  shining 

shore, 
Where  with  angelic  wisdom  we  his  providence  may 

see, 
My  footsteps  from  an  island  shore  directing  here  to 

thee. 


270  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

GOD    AND    LITTLE    CHILDREN. 


"  I  love  God  and  little  children."  — JEAN  PAUL  RICHTER. 


flowers  of  the  field,  and  the  gems   of  the 
_1_          mine, 

The  pearls  of  the  deep,  and  the  stars  in  the  sky, 
May  be  brilliant  and  beauteous,  but  not  so  divine 

As  the  dear  little  children,  born  never  to  die. 
God's  hand  we  behold  in  the  tints  blossoms  wear, 
As  they  deck  earth  with  beauty,  and  gladden  our 

eyes; 

But  nor  star-spangled  midnight,  nor  flowers  may  de 
clare, 
So  well  as  dear  children,  our  God  in  the  skies. 

He  knew  this  who  blessed  them,  and  said,  "  Ever 
more, 

Oh  suffer  the  children  to  come  unto  me !  " 
For  the  glorified  host  on  eternity's  shore 

Are  like  little  children  in  innocency. 
In  heaven  their  angels  forever  behold 

His   face   whose   bright   glory   no   prophet   could 

bear : 
That  heart,  like  a  glacier,  must  ever  be  cold, 

Who   could  wish   for  a   heaven  no   infant   could 
share. 

We  love  them  who  gather  among  them  to-day, 
And  greet  their  gay  banners  and  faces  so  bright ; 

Rejoicing  that  none  need  to  falter  or  stray 

In  their  path  through  this  world  to  the  region  of 
light. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  271 

We  celebrate  now  an  historic  event,*  — 
Here    first    children    gathered,   a    sabbath-school 
band  :  f 

We  proudly  rejoice  that  from  this  village  went 

A  voice  for  the  sabbath  school  through  our  fair 

D 

land. 

The  women,  God-honored !  who  gathered  them  first 

In  the  school  of  the  sabbath,  to  learn  of  its  Lord, 
Saw  the  bud  of  bright  promise  to  full  beauty  burst, 

And  then  "went  up  higher  "  to  take  their  reward. 
Be  their  memory  still  cherished  while  children  are 
found 

Life's  alphabet  conning  in  innocent  glee  I 
May  their  spirit  of  faithfulness  ever  abound 

With  all  who  the  teachers  of  children  may  be ! 

This  day  a  new  motto  we'll  take  as  our  own,  — 

"  Little  children  and  God !  "  "  Little  children  and 

God!" 
And  pray  that  our  pathways  on  earth  may  be  known 

By  the  flowers  that  we  plant  along  infancy's  road. 
And  then,  when  our  toil  in  this  life  shall  be  o'er,  — 

All  our  labors  in  sabbath  school  faithfully  done,  — 
Life-crowned  and  rejoicing,  we'll  sing  evermore, 

"  All  praise  to  the  Saviour  through  whom  we  have 
won." 

*  Semi-centennial  celebration  of  opening  of  sabbath  school  in  Beverly, 
t  Tbe  first  sabbath  school  in  Beverly,  and  in  the  country  it  is  said,  was 
established  in  1810,  by  Hannah  Hill  and  Joanna  B.  Prince. 


272  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 


THE  MIDNIGHT  MEETING.* 


T  1 1WAS  ten  at  night;  and  I,  with  weary  feet, 

1    My  steps  turned  toward  a  new  and  blest  retreat, 
Where  sin-cursed  womanhood  might  find  a  friend, 
And  sinful  man  a  kind  and  helping  hand,  — 
Where  those  who  homeless  walked  the  midnight  round 
A  home  and  a  Redeemer  too  had  found. 

My  heart  rejoiced  then  with  a  gospel  faith 
In  the  great  fatherhood  of  One  who  saith, 
"  Go  feed  my  lambs,  my  wandering  sheep,  oh,  feed ! 
And  all  the  sinful  to  my  fountain  lead." 
In  the  wide  brotherhood  of  man,  once  made 
In  God's  own  image  'neath  the  Eden  shade, 
My  heart  rejoiced ;  and  from  my  weary  eyes 
Sleep  fled  away ;  and,  with  a  sweet  surprise, 
I  listened  to  the  voice  of  one  who  long 
Had  sung  in  cadence  sweet  the  gospel  song, 
And  heard  him  tell,  in  tones  the  angels  know, 
The  love  of  God  to  sinners  here  below  ; 
And  then,  responsive,  heard  the  voices  clear 
Of  some  vice-rescued,  blood-washed  sinners  there, 

31 

In  grateful  accents  praising  God  and  man, 
Who  this  great  work  for  fallen  ones  began. 
The  moments  sped ;  the  midnight  hour  drew  nigh  , 
The  midnight  stars  reached  their  meridian  high  : 
The  moments  sped ;  but  still  we  lingered  there, 
And  holy  song,  and  words  of  hope  and  prayer, 
Filled  the  blest  hours,  till  homeward  turned  our  feet, 
And,  the  glad  measure  of  surprise  complete, 

*  Written  after  visiting  the  Quincy  Home  for  the  Friendless,  in  Boston, 
with  the  chaplain,  Rev.  Phineas  Stowe. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  273 

We  blessed  the  home  for  friendless  ones  and  lone, 
And  felt  that  God  the  enterprise  would  own,  — 
Would  bless  the  laborers  in  their  work  of  love, 
And  aid  their  toil  with  unction  from  above, 
Till  the  lost  spirits  of  that  region  find 
A  shelter  in  the  Friend  of  all  mankind. 


LINES    FOR   AN   AGRICULTURAL    FAIR. 


1  HRIENDS,  how  we  all  have  hailed  in  grateful 
_J_  gladness 

The  golden  glory  of  this  autumn  day ! 
Hope  banished  from  our  hearts  the  mists  of  sadness, 

As  sunshine  rends  the  cloud- veils  all  away : 
For  He  who  hath  the  ample  harvest  given 
Still  rules  with  loving  justice  earth  and  heaven. 

Shall  we  not  trust  Him,  who,  to  every  sower 
That  duly  toileth,  gives  the  garner  filled  ? 

Shall  we  not  love  him,  though  the  silent  mower 
Sweeps  his  relentless  scythe,  and  hearts  are  chilled  ? 

Love  Him  and  trust  Him  in  the  time  of  sadness, 

Oh !  just  as  truly  as  in  hours  of  gladness  ! 

Yes  ;  for  He  gives  the  seed-time  and  the  season 
When  hearts,  rejoicing,  gather  ripened  grain  ; 

And  only  hearts  rebellious  with  sin's  treason 
Can  think  of  murmuring,  when  he  asks  again 

For  some  sweet  flower  to  deck  the  paths  of  glory, 

For  some  strong  voice  to  tell  the  saint's  glad  story. 


274  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

So,  whether  bright  or  sombre  be  to-morrow, 
We  will  be  glad  and  grateful  here  to-day : 

God  cannot  overwhelm  a  soul  with  sorrow, 
That  looks  with  childlike  trust  to  him  alway, 

And  only  cares,  in  sowing  or  in  reaping, 

To  please  the  Lord,  who  giveth  smiles  for  weeping. 

i 
The  day  shall  come,  when,  all  our  labors  ended, 

Each  good  seqd  sown,  each  path  of  duty  trod, 
Our  faith  at  last  into  glad  vision  blended, 

We  shall  keep  harvest-time  at  home  with  God  ; 
And  every  soul,  through  Christ,  from  sin  made  free, 
Shall  join  the  anthem  of  earth's  jubilee. 


THE  CROSS  AND  THE  CROWN. 


T  I  TIS  heavy,  Lord,  the  cross  thou  gavest  me  : 

JL       I  scarce  can  bear  it  on  my  weary  way/' 
So  sighed  a  weary  pilgrim ;  but  an  angel  sang, 

"  Strength  shall  be  given  equal  to  thy  day." 

• 
Onward  he  toiled,  that  pilgrim  worn  and  sad : 

The  cross  seemed  heavier  as  he  bent  him  down. 
Then  angels  whispered,  "  Look  up,  and  be  glad  ; 

For  every  cross  shall  change  into  a  crown." 

He  heard  the  whisper,  so  like  music  sweet ; 

His  faith  the  promise  grasped ;  with  lifted  eye 
He  saw  the  green  fields  for  his  weary  feet, 

Where  the  still  streams  of  peace  flow  gently  by. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  275 

"  Forgive  my  murmur,"  then  the  pilgrim  cried, 
"  And  let  the  cross  be  heavy  if  thou  wilt : 

I'll  think  of  him  who  once  on  Calvary  died, 
And  of  the  cross  he  bore  for  human  guilt. 

"  His  was  the  greatest  cross,  and  his  will  be 
The  brightest  crown  all  future  ages  through. 

O  blessed  Saviour !  make  me  like  to  thee, 
Patient  and  trustful,  till  thy  face  I  view." 

Lo !  as  he  prayed,  his  cross  began  to  shine 
With  lustre  like  an  angel's  radiant  wing, 

And  in  his  soul  he  felt  a  peace  divine : 

"  The  cross  and  crown  are  one,"  he  then  could 
sing. 

'Tis  sweet  to  bear  the  cross  in  duty's  path  ; 

'Tis  bliss  to  suffer  for  the  cause  of  Truth  ; 
To  faithful  souls  is  heaven  begun  on  earth, 

And  hopeful  pilgrims  share  eternal  youth. 


THE    QUESTION   ANSWERED.' 


evening  hour  with  soothing  quiet  came  ; 
. The  silver  moon  rose  slowly  up  the  sky ; 
Crowned  with  young  womanhood,  two  friends  walked 

forth, 
Communing  gladly  of  Life's  purpose  high. 

*  Suggested  by  an  incident  in  the  life  of  Lucy  Stone  and  Antoinette 
Brown,  while  fellow-students  at  Oberlin,  Ohio. 


276  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  queenly  step  of  one,  the  taller,  ceased : 

She  turned,  and  looked  full  in  her  friend's  clear  eye. 

"  Can  woman  reach  the  pulpit?"  then  she  asked, 
And  waited,  with  a  full  heart,  the  reply. 

The  answer  came  ;  but  not  a  hope  was  born, 
As  fell  those  words  upon  the  querist's  heart : 

"  Woman  may  labor  in  full  many  a  field, 

But  may  not  hope  to  act  the  preacher's  part." 

She  asked  of  God,  — that  woman  brave  and  pure  : 
God  gave  the  answer  in  the  wish  inspired. 

The  seed  contained  the  germ  ;  and  in  God's  time 
There  came  the  fruitage  which  the  words  desired. 

Years  passed :  and  she  who  answered  stood  full  oft 
Beneath  the  shelter  of  our  State-House  domes  ; 

And  legislators  heard  her  soul-full  tones, 

Pleading  for  equal  rights  in  states  and  homes. 

The  querist  stood  in  many  a  pulpit  too, 

Proclaiming  Christ  with  hope  to  bless  and  save  ; 

Her  young  heart  glad  with  more  than  human  joy, 
As  there  she  told  of  bliss  beyond  the  grave. 

Both  have  wrought  nobly  where  few  women  toil, 
Been  pioneers  in  that  cause,  pure  and  high, 

Which  gives  her  place  to  woman  by  man's  side, 
With  him  to  lead  immortals  to  the  sky. 

Their  lives  have  shown  that  naught  can  stay  the  tide 
Of  God's  great  purpose  in  its  onward  flow ; 

That  where  man  nobly  labors  for  the  race, 

There,  too,  may  woman,  at  God's  summons,  go. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  277 

A  quarter-century  now  hath  passed  away, 
And  many  a  woman  in  the  pulpit  stands, 

Ordained  to  do  the  pastor's  noble  work 
By  more  than  laying  on  of  human  hands. 

O  God !  we'll  trust  thee  for  the  days  to  come, 
Thou  who  hast  guided  woman  in  the  Past ; 

And  with  a  grateful  heart  thine  handmaids  sing, 
"  The  day  of  righteous  freedom  dawns  at  last." 


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LIFE  OF  NAPOLEON  III., 

EMPEROR    OF    THE    FRENCH. 

Embracing  a  Record  of  nearly  aU  the  Important  National  Events  which  have 
occurred  in  Europe  during  the  last  half  of  a  century. 

BY 

JOHN    8.    C.    ABBOTT, 

Author   of   " History  of  Napoleon   I,"    "French    Revolution,"   "Civil   War  In 
America,"  "  Lives  of  the  Presidents,"  &c.,  &c. 


"  This  work  well  becomes,  In  its  size  and  mechanical  execution,  the  subjects  of 
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Napoleon  of  all  rulers,  furnish  the  most  interesting  materials  for  a  readable  book. 
Those  who  know  with  what  romance  Mr.  Abbott's  pen  Invests  every  subject  of 
which  it  treats  may  well  expect,  in  this  royal  octavo,  interest  as  well  as  Information. 
Nor  will  they  be  disappointed.  The  author  has  had  access  to  all  the  facilities  needed 
for  the  full  development  of  his  subject.  From  the  first  Napoleon,  the  annals  of 
France  have  been  full  of  thrilling  interest.  The  present  emperor  has  become  in  six 
teen  years  the  leading  spirit  in  modern  history,  and  is  a  marvel  in  himself.  Mr. 
Abbott  has  been  careful  to  give  documentary  proof  for  his  statements ;  and  those 
that  find  fault  with  his  details  must  blame  history,  and  not  the  historian."—  Port 
land  (Me.)  Christian  Mirror. 


The  book  is  a  royal  octavo  of  about  700  pages ;  finely  illustrated  by  nine  pure 
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subscription. 

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55  Cornhill,  Boston,  Mass 


A  Book  for  every  Household  In  America, 


LIVES    OF   THE    PRESIDENTS 

OP    THE    UNITED    STATES, 
ITrom  "Washington   to   the   IPresent    Time. 

ILLUSTRATED,  AND  COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 

BT 
JOHN    S.    C.    ABBOTT, 

Author  of  the  "  Civil  War  In  America,"  "  Life  of  Napoleon,"  "  History  of  the 
French  Revolution,"  "  Mother  at  Home,"  &c.,  &c. 


"  It  is  hardly  necessary  to  speak  well  of  a  book  written  to  carry  out  a  practical 
Idea,  and  by  one  of  the  most  practical  writers  in  America.  There  is  not  a  politician, 
a  newspaper  editor,  or  intelligent  citizen,  who  will  not  find  this  work  of  vast  im 
portance  to  him,  saving  much  labor,  and  therefore  time.  It  is  not  only  a  resume  of 
the  leading  events  in  the  characters  of  those  who  have  presided  over  the  Govern 
ment,  but  is  accompanied  by  philosophical  reflections,  and  by  what  we  are  pleased 
to  notice,  —  the  frank  objections  of  the  biographer  to  such  errors  as  may  have  been 
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THE 


Life  of  George  Peabody: 

CONTAINING    A    RECORD    OF    THOSE    PRINCELY    ACTS    OF    BENEVOLENCE    WHICH 

ENTITLE  HIM  TO  THE  GRATITUDE  AND  ESTEEM   OF  THE  FRIENDS  Or 

EDUCATION  AND  OF  THE   DESTITUTE,   BOTH   IN    AMERICA, 

THE  LAND  OF  HIS   BIRTH,  AND  ENGLAND, 

THE  PLACE  OF  HIS  DEATH. 

BY  PHEBE   A.    HANAFORD, 
Member  of  the  Essex  Institute,  and  author  of  "  Life  of  Lincoln,"  <fc. 

WITH   AN   INTRODUCTION"   BY   DR.  JOSEPH   H.  HANAFORD. 


The  above,  copied  from  the  titlepage  of  the  book,  fully  explains  the  work.  That 
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HANAFORD'S  ability  to  perform  the  task,  no  one  will  question.  She  was  well 
known  for  some  years  as  the  editor  of  "  The  Ladies'  Repository."  Her  experience 
as  a  writer  and  poetess  is  large;  and,  being  a  member  of  the  Essex  Institute  (an 
association  that  shared  largely  the  munificence  of  Mr.  PEABODY),  her  facilities 
are  ample. 

I  need  not  enlarge  upon  the  desirableness  of  possessing  such  a  work.  As  Amer 
ican  citizens,  we  are  proud  of  the  name  of  GEORGE  PEABODY.  And,  to  place  the 
book  within  reach  of  the  millions,  I  have  published  it  in  style  and  price  suited  to 
the  tunes. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  present  a  long  list  of  testimonials  :  a  few  will  indicate  the 
universal  favor  with  which  the  work  is  received  :  — 

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the  most  abundant  material  at  hand."  —  Boston  Traveller. 

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terday."  —  Mrs.  E.  C.  Smithson,  New  Haven. 

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faction  from  my  agents  in  all  parts  of  the  country. 

TERMS  OF  PUBLICATION.  —  The  work  contains  308  pages,  12mo;  illus 
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